


Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-24 08:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: Mickey's taken into care and shares a room with Ian, whose scent drives him mad.-Then the smell hits him; heady and intoxicating. Mickey's head spins and his stomach pools with heat. Saliva gathers in the back of his mouth and he has to swallow, feeling heat prickle along his skin. It takes him a moment to realise that it's Ian he's smelling, his alpha scent thick in the room, better than anyone he's ever smelled before. Mickey drops his bag heavily at the foot of the other bed and hopes he doesn't look as flushed as he feels.





	1. I Like How He Smells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seazu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seazu/gifts).



> For Charlie, my Mickey, happy birthday!  
> I know I'm a day early, but I thought because you have to work you'd have more time to read this today. I also know that you are a SIN BIN for trashy alpha/omega smut, but I don't love writing sex scenes without context, so here's a whole fic for you. I hope you like it, and that you have a good day tomorrow.  
> Love you x

Mickey is uncharacteristically quiet as he's taken away from his brothers and Mandy. They look at him with eyes sunken and dark ringed in their pale faces; an unspoken exchange, quiet concern. He gives them a brief nod, a silent assurance he'll be okay. He's put in another vehicle. He picks at a scab on his knuckle and stares out the window, ignoring the voice of the beta social worker in the front seat. She's filling him in on whatever bullshit home he's being taken to, but he doesn't give a shit.

“Alright, Mikhailo. Here we are.”

She pronounces his name Mike-halo. His scowl deepens.

“It's Mickey.”

She ignores him, getting out of the car. He sighs. Kicks the seat. Has no other choice but to grab his bag and follow her into the fuckin' shit hole. It doesn't look like much from the outside; just a big, grey building. Too big to just be a house. The garden is railed in. The grass is trimmed but patchy in areas, littered with two balls, a broken skateboard, a rusty razor scooter, and an empty cigarette pack. Mickey clears his throat and spits onto the path. His social worker gives him a brief look of disgust, but decides against saying anything. Smart move on her part.

He's introduced to Harrison, the alpha in charge of the home, and given a brief tour. It is loud and overcrowded, packed with rowdy alphas. The scent of them is overwhelming. Mickey keeps his scowl in place and his arms folded defensively across his ribs as he's led around the place. He doesn't speak. Doesn't ask questions. Doesn't answer any questions posed to him.

“Is this your first time in foster care?”

He doesn't even glance up.

“You don't have to be scared.”

_As if._

“It must be difficult being apart from your siblings, huh?”

_Not in the way you think._

Eventually Harrison gives up and simply leads him up two flights of stairs. He stops outside a door at the end of the hall. The paint is chipped towards the rim, as if the door has had a fair amount of slamming in its time.

“This is your room,” Harrison says. “You're gonna be in with Ian. He's only been here a week and a half, so he's still settling in, but he knows enough to show you anything you need.”

Mickey doesn't need anyone to show him around. He doesn't need anyone, full stop. Harrison knocks on the door twice before pushing it open. There's a boy, Mickey assumes he is Ian, lying on one of the beds, headphones in as he throws a ball up and catches it. His head turns as they enter, and he tugs out one of his earbuds, offering them a crooked smile. He looks younger than Mickey was expecting, with fluffy bangs framing a face full of freckles. Great. He's stuck in with a fuckin' kid.

Then the smell hits him; heady and intoxicating. Mickey's head spins and his stomach pools with heat. Saliva gathers in the back of his mouth and he has to swallow, feeling heat prickle along his skin. It takes him a moment to realise that it's _Ian_ he's smelling, his alpha scent thick in the room, better than anyone he's ever smelled before. Mickey drops his bag heavily at the foot of the other bed and hopes he doesn't look as flushed as he feels.

“Ian, this is your new roommate, Mickey.”

“Hey.” Ian lifts his hand in a little wave. Mickey glares at him. His smile doesn't waver.

“Show him around. Help him out if he needs anything.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I'll leave you to get settled in, Mickey.” Harrison nods and steps out of the room. Mickey flips off the closed door. Ian huffs a laugh.

“He's annoying but mostly okay,” Ian says. Mickey doesn't answer him. He cracks open the window and lights up a cigarette. Ian raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment on it. “First time in care?”

Mickey shrugs.

“Okay. I'll just lie here. In silence.”

“Ain't got nothin' to talk to you about.” Mickey spits out the window. “I'm here and it's shit, but I'll be eighteen in a few months, then I'll be gone.”

Ian sits up and folds his legs beneath him. He watches Mickey for a moment before nodding. He pulls his other earbud out and wraps his headhones around his mp3 player.

“You're older, then. I'm only sixteen, but my sister is gonna get us back soon. She always does.”

“Look, I dunno what I said that made you think I give a fuck, Carrot Top, but I don't.”

Ian's expression falls momentarily, before it flashes into a bright grin. Mickey is thrown. This is not the reaction he expects. This is not the reaction he usually demands. Ian's eyes crinkle at the corner when he smiles. Mickey feels his stomach twist, like he's free falling.

“The fuck you smilin' at?”

“You.”

“You wanna fuckin' die?”

Ian laughs; a soft, low chuckling sound. It's not the barking alpha laugh Mickey expects, but it suits him.

“You just remind me of home, that's all. You're south side too, right?”

Mickey huffs. Gives a curt nod. Turns his attention back out the window. He inhales deep and tries to let the smoke fill him; his lungs, his nose, his senses. He feels uncomfortably damp, the first hints of wetness making him slick. It's bad enough he's been dumped in a house of alphas. If he's gonna make it through this, he can't afford to be found out.

It would be a lot easier to hide the fact he's an omega if his body didn't respond so eagerly to Ian.

*

It turns out that sharing a room with Ian comes with an advantage, because Ian actually has a job. A real, legit job that pays him, which means he can buy cigarettes, and regardless of how much of a dick Mickey is to him, he always lets him bum one. Which is good, because he doesn't have much opportunity to steal smokes around here, can't really get close enough to any of the other children in case they smell him through the lingering alpha scent of his siblings. Intimidation alone doesn't work on the shops near the home; his name doesn't mean anything here, and he's got no weapons on him.

The downside to this arrangement is it means Ian joins him by the window, leaning on the sill, his lanky legs leaving the bend of his knee barely an inch from Mickey. His fingers are long and thin and he moves the cigarette in his hand when he talks. He talks a lot. Tells Mickey about some of the other times he's been in care, like the overly religious family who dressed him in itchy sweaters and made him pray every morning and before every meal, who didn't smoke or swear or watch TV.

“This place is fuckin' great compared to there.”

Mickey doesn't take in all that he says, his voice a buzz of background noise fading in and out. He tries to breathe through his mouth as he smokes. The room is thick with the scent of Ian, and that is bad enough, but it's even stronger at the source, rising from his skin in fresh, potent waves. He was worried that the whole house would be like that, what with alphas living stacked on top of each other, but the other scents don't rouse him half as much. Ian's knee bumps against his and Mickey jerks back, almost dropping his cigarette out the window.

“The fuck, man?”

“Sorry.” Ian laughs. He doesn't fuckin' sound sorry. “Just checkin' if you're alright. You were all zoned out.”

“I'm fuckin' fine. Why wouldn't I be?”

Ian shrugs. He flicks his butt away. He seems to consider for a moment, before he rises and crosses to his bed. Crouching, he shoves his hand beneath the mattress and pulls something out. Mickey squints across at him, tryna see what it is.

“Wanna get high?”

There's a joint held between his thin fingers now. Mickey smirks. Maybe there's more than one advantage to sharing a room with Ian.

*

Mickey lies on his stomach on his bed, flicking through a gossip mag he'd fished out of the recycling. The puzzles are already done, but he doesn't much care. He's here to read about dying Cher and Angie's new drama and judge the outfit scores ( _2/10? Fuck sake, she's the best dressed bitch on the two page spread. And this 10 is undeserved, looks like a fuckin' zebra projectile vomited on her. Jesus Christ, is the person scorin' these fuckin' blind?_ ). He glances up when Ian enters the room, but doesn't bother to disguise what he's reading. Ian quirks a brow, but makes no comment, which Mickey appreciates.

He's been out having a kick around in the back garden, something he'd tried to drag Mickey along to. Mickey had given a firm _no_ , and an even firmer _fuck off_. Far too risky. He starts to sweat and his omega scent is going to be much more noticeable, just as Ian's is now, thick and heady. He peels off his shirt and Mickey watches from the corner of his eye as Ian's pale torso is revealed. He's tall, and slim, but all lean muscle. Mickey absently tongues at his lower lip, eyes flicking back to the page when Ian turns.

He leaves the room and Mickey exhales in relief. With his next inhale he almost moans, Ian's scent alone enough of an aphrodisiac to have his dick stir, to have him feel slick and uncomfortable. He wriggles on his stomach, trying to shift the discomfort, but it doesn't give. Mickey gets up and opens the window just to try and breathe something that isn't _Ian Ian Ian_. As they move towards evening, the sky shifts, red spilling across the blue like the edge of it has caught flame. Mickey's fingers twitch, and he craves a cigarette; the burn down his throat and smoke in his nose.

Too soon, Ian is back, with only a towel around his waist. His body is flushed and damp from the shower. Mickey tries not to stare. Purposefully keeps his eyes above neck level.

“You got any smokes?”

“Uh, sure,” Ian says. He digs a pack out of a discarded pair of jeans and throws them across to Mickey.

“Thanks.”

Mickey turns as Ian drops the towel and digs out a pair of boxers, his fingers stumbling as they work a cigarette out. He hears the towel land with a muffled sound and he almost drops the pack. Finally, he gets one free and shoves it between his lips.

“Need a light?” Ian appears at his side, and Mickey starts. Ian is smirking at him like he fuckin' knows the kind of effect he's having, even though he couldn't possibly. He leans in too close as he lights up Mickey's cigarette, the reflection of the flame briefly dancing in his eyes. Mickey stares back, frozen in his gaze.

Then Ian's brow furrows. His nose twitches. He sniffs the air between them, head tilting up.

“What?” Mickey scowls.

“Do you have a secret mate you're not telling me about?”

“The fuck?” Mickey tries not to let panic show on his features.

“Just- I thought I smelled...”

“You tryna say I fuckin' smell?”

“No, just... Don't you smell it?”

Mickey makes a show of sniffing the air, just to keep the guise up.

“Probably someone I passed on the street or something,” he says gruffly, subject dropped.

“Right,” Ian says, and seems to relax. Mickey is slower to relax, his heart still beating quicker, not sure how much longer he can hide the truth.

*

They lay on Ian's bed. A week has passed, and they are getting high again. Ian's fingers graze Mickey's as he hands across the joint, and Mickey feels the skin tingle where they touch. He smiles, hazy and stoned, and takes a deep drag. Ian's head is angled towards his, the tops touching, just barely. His scent is thick in the air around Mickey, his body warm and solid beside him. Mickey feels comfortable, settled, free of the tension he's usually holding in his small frame.

“You're short,” Ian says after a delayed silence. Mickey blinks, slow.

“Fuck you.” They are both silent for a long stretch. “Wait, what?”

“What?”

“Did you say I was short?”

“Oh, right, yeah.”

“Oh. Fuck you.”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Just for an alpha, I mean.”

“What?”

“Short.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just for an alpha.”

“Not everyone's a lanky fuck.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Hmmm.”

“What?”

“Wait, what?”

“.... I dunno.”

Ian laughs, the sound vibrating through him. His elbow touches Mickey's. He can feel the vibration echo through him. He snorts, then chuckles, then he's laughing along with Ian, though he's not quite sure what at, but the sound of their joined laughter just makes him laugh more.

“Shut up!” He elbows Ian in the ribs, but Ian only laughs harder; an ugly, dorky laugh that fuckin' sounds like Sloth out of _The Goonies_. “You are such a fuckin' dork.”

“Yeah.” Ian grabs the joint back. He inhales, his cheeks hollowing around it. Mickey's attention focuses in on his lips, and he absently tongues at the corner of his mouth. When he looks up, Ian's watching him through hooded eyes, his gaze hazy but heated.

“What?” Mickey asks, soft, like he's afraid of breaking the moment. Ian shakes his head, but says nothing. He leans in. Mickey flinches away. “The fuck?”

“It's okay,” Ian murmurs. “Part your lips.”

His hand cups the back of Mickey's neck. Mickey is frozen, his jaw slack, his heart thundering in his chest. He swallows as Ian takes another long inhale, and then he's leaning in again. There's a ringing in Mickey's ears. Ian's eyes are almost closed, but Mickey can't help but stare as he closes the distance between them. He stops less than an inch from Mickey's mouth and exhales smoke against his parted lips. It takes a moment for Mickey to realise what he's doing, his whole body humming with anticipation of a kiss, but then he breathes in, inhaling the smoke.

“Shotgun.” Ian grins, lopsided. His pupils are blown. “Blow it back.”

Mickey does, and they pass smoke between them until it is done, and then repeat with the rest of their joint. When they're done, they dose on the bed, warm and heavy limbed. Mickey wakes in the early hours of the morning and stumbles across to his own bed, carrying the scent of Ian on his clothes. His sheets are cold. His bed seems larger than he remembers. He pulls his shirt off, but stuffs it at the side of his pillow, keeping the smell of Ian close as he lulls to sleep.

*

It's been two weeks since Mickey has come to the home and it has reached the stage where he doesn't even want to leave his room for meals. He had put off washing for most of the first week, clinging to the smell of his siblings and of his house on his skin, masking his own omega scent. When he'd finally been made to shower, his next defence was his clothes, which never made it to the wash hamper. Now though, he's certain any residue of Milkovich alpha scent has worn off them, and if he steps from this room he'll be found out.

The fact his heat is approaching only serves to make matters worse.

He can feel the first symptoms creeping in already. He's constantly flushed, a slow heat building beneath his skin, making him light headed for no reason. Then there's the wetness, even easier to trigger now. He fears being in a house full of alphas is only driving his biological clock forward, his body urging itself into breeding mode while mates are readily available.

He fuckin' hates it. Hates any reminder of what he is. What he was never meant to be. He should be an alpha, like the rest of his brothers, like his father. Fuck, even Mandy is a fuckin' alpha. Something got mixed up with Mickey. Something went wrong. He got delivered into the wrong body, and now he's stuck, left to fuckin' suffer in it.

The door opens. Mickey tenses, curled on his side on the bed. He knows it's Ian without having to look up, can smell him as he enters the room. It is both comforting and maddening. He feels the flush of his face get warmer. His body softens, some of the tension draining away.

“You okay?” Ian lingers at the side of his bed.

“Fine.”

“Brought you a sandwich, since you missed lunch. Told them you weren't feelin' well so they wouldn't come askin' questions.”

“Thanks.” Mickey rolls onto his back and looks up at Ian, who is smiling at him, plate in his hands. His brow is furrowed though, and Mickey can see him sniffing, trying to place the scent.

“Did you have someone in here?”

“No.” Mickey tenses. Ian sets the plate down. He sniffs again. His head turns towards Mickey. He leans closer. Sniffs once more. “Fuck off.”

“You brought an omega in here.”

“I said-”

“Is that why you didn't come down?”

“Fuck off, Gallagher.”

“This is my room, too,” Ian says, an authoritative tone to his voice that makes Mickey shudder. He licks his lips, tries to keep the cockiness in his expression, but he can feel it melt away. He feels too open, too vulnerable. “You could at least give me a heads up if you're hooking up with someone.”

“I wasn't,” Mickey says, too quiet.

“You stink of omega, Mickey.”

Mickey chews his lip, glancing away. He doesn't want to look at Ian when he realises. Doesn't want to see the moment it flickers across his expression.

“What, you not talkin' now?”

“It's me.”

“What?”

“The smell. It's fuckin' me, okay?” His eyes flick back to Ian to hold him briefly in a glare.

“What do you- Wait. Shit. No?”

“You tell anyone and I'll knock your fuckin' teeth so far down your throat you'll have to shove a toothbrush up your fuckin' ass just to brush them.”

Ian is stunned into silence, his features an almost comical expression of surprise. Then he laughs. He laughs until his cheeks turn pink and he has to bend over double, holding his stomach. Mickey scowls.

“What?” he asks. Ian is laughing too much to answer. “Fuckin' what?”

“Need to- stick a toothbrush- up my ass.” Ian wheezes between words, shaking his head. Mickey shoves him. He stumbles back, still chuckling.

“Fuck you.”

“Are you really an omega?” Ian says once he's caught his breath again.

“Yeah.”

“What are you doin' here for?”

“No one knows I'm an omega. My dad said I presented as an alpha.”

“Didn't they do blood tests and shit before they sent you here, though?”

“Meant to.”

“But they didn't?”

“Nope.”

“Shit.”

“Good thing, too.”

“How is that a good thing?”

“Don't want no one to know.”

“Are you on suppressants?” Ian asks, perching at the edge of his bed.

“Nah.” Mickey says around a mouthful of sandwich. “You know how fuckin' hard it is to get those? I mean, my brother can, sometimes, but they make too much of a profit to waste on me.”

“Scent blockers? Birth control?”

Mickey shakes his head. Ian falls quiet after that, head bowed, processing. Mickey eats his sandwiches and watches him. Taking it better than he thought he would.

“So, you're gonna go into heat. In a house full of alphas. That your plan?” Ian looks across at him again. Mickey shrugs.

“Ain't got no plan yet.”

“You're close, though. I can smell it on you.”

“Yeah,” Mickey says. The word catches on his dry throat. He feels hot and tingly with the knowledge Ian can smell his arousal on him.

“Can't do it here. You'll be fuckin' mauled.”

“I know that, shit for brains. I'll sort... Something.”

“I might have somewhere,” Ian says, chewing his thumbnail.

“Right. Somewhere you can get me all to yourself, huh? Well, no thanks,” Mickey says, even though he's flushing at the idea. “I ain't some wet hole you can just use for your satisfaction.”

“I'm not tryna fuck you, Mick. Just tryna help.”

“I don't need no fuckin' help.”

“What other option you got?”

Mickey says nothing, because he got none.

*

“Shh.”

“I'm not sayin' anything.”

“Shhh!”

“I'm not fuckin-”

“Shhhh!”

“You fuckin' shh,” Mickey hisses, shoving Ian. He stumbles and lands heavily on the next stair, which creaks loudly. They both freeze, their breathing sounding loud in the otherwise quiet house. No one stirs, so they continue their descent. The doors are locked, but Ian's nicked one of the back door spares, so they're able to slip out without resorting to a fuckin' window.

The El at night is a strange experience. Mickey is used to it packed with people, thrumming with life, a mixture of scents and noises. He's also used to being accompanied by at least two of his siblings when he goes anywhere; both for the cover of their scent, but also their protection in case anything goes wrong. It ain't like he can't stick up for himself. He's a good fighter, he's usually carrying a weapon, and he ain't fuckin' afraid to fight dirty. It's just that, despite all that, he's still a fuckin' omega, still at a physical disadvantage if a couple of asshole alphas give him trouble. Just another weakness of his gender, another drawback, another fuckin' thing he hates.

“You okay?” Ian asks. Mickey's been staring moodily out the window, but now he looks at Ian, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of the train.

“Yeah.” He's aware of Ian's closeness in the seat beside him, of everywhere they are touching, arm and thigh, how Ian is pressed along his side. Then his smell, so close, so potent. Mickey feels flushed, light headed, uncomfortable. The rocking of the train doesn't help.

“It's getting closer, isn't it?”

He nods. If not during the rest of the night, then definitely by morning. Hopes his body can just hold out until he gets away from Ian. Hopes he won't fuckin' embarrass himself, 'cause he doesn't want anyone to see him vulnerable like that.

“We'll be there soon.” Ian squeezes Mickey's arm, and his heart rate picks up, he feels that warmth slide lower, stirring his libido.

“Fuck off.” He pulls his arm away. Glares at Ian, then out the window again.

*

“This place is empty.”

“Mostly, yeah. There's still work to be done.”

“Fuckin' loads. You want me to freeze in here?”

“It's the best I can do on short notice, alright? I'll bring some blankets and stuff over from ours.”

“And your sister's omega, he's cool with me using this?”

“Not really, but he can't say no to Fiona.” Ian grins.

“Good, obedient little omega.”

“Nah. Just whipped. Ain't got anything to do with being an omega. I'll bring some food and stuff as well. You wanna come?”

“No. Don't want anyone else fuckin' seein' me.”

“Fair enough.”

Ian leaves, and Mickey is left in the strange, mostly empty house. Still fuckin' cleaner than his own house, though, bare as it is. There's a mattress on the floor of the living room. Currently stripped. He hopes Ian brings plenty of blankets back with him. He sighs. The sound echoes. With the place so empty his fuckin' desperate whines and moans are gonna bounce back something awful to him in here. Fuckin' hates how he sounds like a needy little bitch when he's in heat, and without any of his toys, it's just gonna be worse.

He crosses to the window and looks at the house next door. He can see light in one of the windows, but no movement. He watches until a figure comes out the back. He can't see them past the pile of blankets in their arms, but who else would it be but Ian? He makes up a bed for Mickey when he comes in. Mickey stands back and watches as Ian smooths the sheets out neatly, knowing he's going to wreck that when he starts to nest.

“I'm gonna grab some food and bottles of water.”

“Right,” says Mickey, because he can't bring himself to say thank you. Ian gives him a brief smile, and vanishes again.

His skin prickles. He can feel the first waves coming now, the lightest sheen of sweat, the dizzy rush in his head getting stronger. He moves towards the mattress, the urge to nest growing. As he's shifting the blankets into a better shape he catches whiff of Ian. He leans down and presses his face to the top duvet, stars printed across the cover, and breathes deep. The smell has faded slightly with Ian being absent, but it's been exposed to him long term previously. Even through the cheap laundry detergent of the cover, Mickey can smell the duvet inside saturated in his scent. It drives his heat on faster. His hands tremble. He feels himself get wetter, can feel the uncomfortable slick of it as he moves. A whimper pulls from his throat, and he nuzzles against the blanket, inhaling deep. There's other scents mixed among him; a different alpha, even a lingering omega scent, but Ian's is the strongest, and the one he picks out easiest.

He's squirming by the time Ian comes back, hot and flushed, pressing his ass down against the mattress as he holds the blanket to his face. Useless, of course. Ain't givin' him any fuckin' satisfaction. Ain't nearly enough to even take the edge off. He tries to stop when he hears Ian's footsteps, sitting up a bit. One side of his hair sticks up at every angle, messed from where he was rubbing it against the blanket. Ian freezes, unsure if it's safe to come any closer. Mickey pants, lips parted, watching him with expanding pupils.

“Shit, sorry, Mick. I'll just leave this and go. We didn't have a whole lot, but Fiona made up sandwiches with the rest of the bread and I got whatever edible stuff we had in the cupboard. Should keep you going a few days at least, then we'll get you something better.”

Mickey doesn't care about the food. Mickey often starves for the duration of his heats, or survives on a few candy bars, barricaded away in his room to stop his family getting near him. What he cares about right now is Ian, his fresh scent so much stronger than the lingering one on the blankets, now in the room with him, inviting, intoxicating. Mickey feels saliva building in the back of his throat. He swallows thickly, whines, shifts his hips again, automatically seeking some kind of friction.

Ian makes the mistake of stepping closer to set the food near him. Mickey sees his own expression change as he catches scent of omega in heat. His head jerks up, his nostrils flaring as he inhales deep. Ian's body moves closer automatically, and Mickey almost fuckin' purrs with satisfaction. Some old, deep instinct tells him to get on hands and knees, present himself all fuckin' pretty for Ian. He has just enough awareness left to stop himself doin' that like a little bitch, but he does whine, tilting his head back, baring his throat like an invitation.

“Ian.”

“Mick.”

“Please,” Mickey says, the word hoarse as it drags itself from his throat. He might be asking him to leave, but he wants him to stay, wants him to strip him down and fuck him hard, fill him up, fuckin' satisfy him in the way only an alpha and their knot can do. He's so fuckin' wet now. He can feel the back of his boxers clinging to him.

“Shit.” Ian exhales harshly, the sound alone enough to have Mickey's dick twitching. He aches. He aches so badly, and he needs to be filled, needs to be fucked, but Ian is turning away. Ian is clenching his fists, shaking his head, and taking swift, determined steps towards the door. Mickey whimpers. Mickey spreads his legs. Mickey tries hard to look like a good, appealing omega.

“Don't.”

But it's too late, and Ian is gone.

*

It's worse than he's expecting. Somehow, being cloaked in Ian's scent just drives him even more crazed with the fuckin' lusty need to be filled. It aches so bad it brings him to tears. He fingers himself, desperately trying to take the edge off. The angle isn't great, but even when he works his own fist into himself, it's not the same, not enough, not nearly fuckin' enough.

He keeps his face pressed to the blankets and keeps inhaling deep. As much as Ian's scent tortures him, he stills finds it comforting, a strange paradoxical crash within him. He falls asleep with wet cheeks and slick thighs, and wakes up with his face buried in a curled up bump of the blanket. He wants Ian. Fuck, he wants any alpha, wants any fuckin' thing that will take the burning ache away. Even any of his toys, which are never quite enough, but better than his fingers, better than nothin'.

His shoulder aches with the angle it takes, but he can't help it, his hand is all he's got.

By the second day it's not quite as furious. He sleeps more. He gets a few chances to eat between waves, and even wanders around in search of the bathroom for five minutes. He naps frequently, only waking when he's wet and desperate again.

By day three there's considerable gaps between waves of need, and he knows he's coming close to the end. He sleeps a lot, exhausted from the last few days. He wakes early in the morning of day four and knows he's done. He texts Ian to let him know, cleans himself up as best he can on the sheets, pulls on his old pair of boxers, and falls back into the tangled nest of blankets.

*

“Hey.”

Mickey stirs, but doesn't quite wake. He's warm and comfortable, still lost in the hazy dream where he's curled up with someone, sharing their heat, feeling the solid press of them behind him. It's a nice dream. He clings to it, not wanting to give it up. Long legs tangled with his. Thin fingers filling the gap between his. Soft kisses on the side of his neck. That scent, so familiar now, so maddening.

“Hey, Mickey. Oh. Wow. I never made that connection before.” Laughter; a soft chuckle. “Hey Mickey, you're so fine, you're so fine you-”

“Shut the fuck up. I fuckin' hate that song,” Mickey grumbles. His head pokes out of the mass of blankets to find a grinning Ian, his fingertips resting gently against Mickey's shoulder.

“Mornin'. Just about. Sorry I couldn't get here sooner.”

“S'okay.” Mickey sits up, rubbing his eyes. A cold breeze brushes his skin. He glances at the open window, then back at Ian, eyebrow raised.

“Just tryna let some of the smell out,” he says, ducking his head. Ah. It hadn't even occurred to Mickey that the room would stink of omega in heat now.

“Right. You didn't happen to bring a change of clothes?”

“Shit. Sorry, didn't even think.”

“Yeah. Doesn't matter.”

“No, hey, look, our house is empty right now. You wanna come grab a shower and I can lend you some clothes?”

“I ain't gonna wear your fuckin' clothes, man.”

“Why not? It's a good cover, actually. They'll smell like alpha, and then you can just claim you spent a heat with omega. That'll explain the mixed scent.”

He's got a point. Mickey can't really admit that he doesn't want to wear Ian's clothes because the smell of him turns him on. At that thought, he remembers the last time he saw Ian, and feels heat rise to his cheeks. Fuck. Talk about fuckin' mortifying.

“Hey, about what I said, before-”

“Was the heat talkin'. I get it.”

“Right. Just, fuckin' forget it, okay?”

“Okay, Mickey.” Ian starts gathering up the blankets as Mickey pulls on his own clothes, and he notices that all the food wrappers and empty bottles have been cleared away already.

“You got a smoke?”

Ian smiles and hands Mickey his pack. He pulls one out and heads for the back door, lighting up and sighing at the first drag. Fuck, he should have asked Ian to leave a pack with him. Three days without a smoke, he's practically dying for it.

“Ready?” Ian's smiling as he appears with blanket laden arms. Mickey shrugs, which he takes as a yes. Stepping off the porch, he follows Ian home.

*

Mickey dries off and steps into Ian's room. There's a clash of scents when he steps through; beta and alpha and someone too young to have presented yet. He screws his nose up and follows Ian's scent to the bed that's been stripped of its covers. Ian's laid out clothes for him; boxers, an old pair of sweatpants he has to roll up the legs of, and a hoody that falls down to his thighs. It's not ideal, but better than his clothes that reek of omega in heat.

Mickey rubs a towel over his damp hair as he descends the stairs. He can smell cooking, and his stomach grumbles in hungry protest. The thought of a warm meal after days of living off crackers and chips and sandwiches kicks his hunger into high gear. He drops the towel in the laundry basket, eyes on Ian, who is making pancakes in the kitchen.

“This him?”

Mickey's eyes flick towards the sound. He hadn't noticed another person in the room, and her voice sends a jolt through him. She's a black woman, sitting by the table. Mickey smells her a moment after he sees her; omega, bonded, the scent of her alpha heavy on her.

“The fuck is this?” he asks Ian.

“This is V. She's our neighbour, and nurse. Thought she might have something that could help.”

“You have suppressants?” Mickey looks back at her with fresh interest, hope perking up his tone.

“Hell no. You know how hard it is to get suppressants? Even if I could get them now, takes weeks for them to go into effect, you'd probably still hit your next heat. Ian's told me what's up. While my advice would be tell someone and get your ass out of that alpha den before someone gets up it, I've been told you're too stubborn to see logic.”

“I told you not to tell anyone,” Mickey growls. Ian shrugs, flipping a pancake out onto a plate.

“I need to tell some people if I think they can help, Mick. There's only so much I can do alone. Here, eat this.” Ian hands him a plate with a significant pile of pancakes on it. It's hard for Mickey to argue in the face of that many pancakes. He accepts the plate with a glare, and moves to sit across from V.

“So you can't do shit for me, then?”

“I'll try and get scent blockers, but they ain't easy to come across either. I have got a shitload of these, though.” She taps the pile of boxes in front of her. Mickey raises an eyebrow. “Birth control.”

“The fuck I need that for?”

“Insurance, in case somethin' happens. But they'll dim your scent a bit, regulate your heats and make them a bit easier to bear. I get them from Planned Parenthood, but Kev and I have started tryin' for a baby, so I ain't takin' them any more. Thought it might be useful to keep getting them, though.”

“Right,” Mickey says, mouth full of pancakes. He swallows and then, a touch reluctantly, adds: “Thanks.”

V takes her leave soon after, and Ian sits down with his own plate.

“Your clothes are in the wash. They shouldn't be too much longer.”

“Why are you doin' this?”

“Doin' what?”

“Helpin' me.”

“Oh. I dunno. I guess 'cause you're my roommate, I'd probably get shit for not tellin' if you're caught.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay,” Ian smiles. “I'm helpin' you 'cause I wanna. 'Cause you're cool and we're friends, right?”

Mickey stares at Ian. He doesn't know what to say to that. He's never had a friend before.

“Right,” he says eventually, hesitant, unsure. Ian just smiles back at him.

*

They make it back without being noticed, and when Mickey shows up to dinner with the lingering scent of omega, the other kids assume he's been to share a heat with his mate. Harrison takes him in and gives him a brief lecture about disappearing, and that he has a responsibility to know where all the kids are, and they were all very concerned, blah de fuckin' blah.

Ian starts giving Mickey space after that. He finds himself more and more often alone in their room, Ian mingling with more of the other alphas now. He still leaves a line of cigarettes for Mickey on his bedside drawer, but now he rarely joins him to smoke out the window, only when he's retired to the room in the evening. Mickey doesn't know why this bothers him, but it does.

He leans against the window sill as he smokes, looking down into the garden. The sky is starting to darken, shifting from blue to grey, but there's still enough light to see by. Ian's playing soccer with a group of the other teens. He's fast, and has a strong kick. Ducks in and out of people, except for one of the boys, who he seems to find excuses to press against. Caleb, Mickey thinks, squinting to see. Caleb who just laughs and pushes Ian away, that or tackles him bodily back, but in a playful way. The kind of play fighting Mickey's brothers engage in. That he plays along with, but that always feels too serious for him to enjoy the same way.

He sighs and flicks his butt out into the air. There's something heavy in his chest; a stirring, sad kind of feeling. He doesn't want to think about it, but he can't fuckin' find anything else to think about, so it blossoms and grows until he realises that he's lonely. Achingly lonely. Fuck. Not that being alone is anything new to him, but for a while, he hadn't been. For a while, he'd had Ian.

He glances down into the garden again. Ian's still in the midst of a game that doesn't look like it's breaking up any time soon. Then his feet are carrying him to Ian's bed and he touches the blanket with his fingertips. It's neatly made, as always. Mickey wants to flop onto it face first. Breathe in the scent of Ian left by his sleeping body. He can't risk wrecking the sheets, though, so he just bends and puts his face near the pillow. His eyes flutter shut as he breathes in and feels himself settle. It's just stupid omega instinct, doesn't mean anything, but that doesn't mean he can't indulge.

Since he can't mess the sheets, his next move is to poke through Ian's drawers for something he doesn't wear very often. He finds an ugly, scratchy sweater in the bottom drawer. The weather is too hot for that kind of clothing any time soon, so Mickey pulls it free. Something falls from inside it, hitting the ground with a smack. It's a book, no, a folder. Covered in brown paper, with pictures of omegas plastering the front; male and female alike.

Mickey rolls his eyes, feeling annoyed without reason. He angrily flicks the folder open, scowling at the pornographic images. It takes a second for his brain to kick in and alert him that he's not looking at normal porn; not the images he expected, of alphas driving into omegas, filling their wet holes, knots swelling as they aim to breed them. Not the normal shit he expects an alpha to be hiding in their porn collection. All the pictures are alphas fucking _alphas._ Tall, muscular bodies, pressing together. In true porn fashion they're all exaggerated alphas; all meaty, bulging muscles, tall, toned, strong bodies.

Fuck. Ian's _queer_. Not avoiding Mickey because it's awkward, but because he no longer has an interest in him.

Mickey drops onto his ass, resting the magazine on his folded legs as he flicks through it, eyes wide and curious. He's never seen images like this before. Sex to him has always been alphas claiming, fucking, mating their omegas. He knows betas have different sex, but that's because they're different, because they can't bond or breed. Alphas and omegas fuck like it's meant to be done, biological instinct, blah fuckin' blah. The only instinct he's had when an alpha gets close is to punch them in the fuckin' face.

Except in the maddening lusty haze of his heats, when he feels like any alpha will do.

 _Or when I'm too close to Ian,_ he thinks, but immediately shuts that train of thought down. He doesn't wanna fuck Ian. Not that Ian wants to fuck him, anyway. He's into this. Mickey's fingers trail over the glossy pages; some female alphas, but mostly male. Wonders if Ian has a preference. Wonders if he takes it, or if he's the one doin' the fuckin', and then he's on another bad train of thought so he shoves everything back into the folder.

He feels stupid for even wanting the jumper now. He wraps the folder back in it and shoves it all haphazardly into the drawer he got it from. He trails back to the window and lifts the last of the cigarettes Ian left for him, lighting up as he watches him play wrestling with Caleb and feels the familiar heaviness in his chest.

*

Mickey doesn't mention to Ian that he found his stash, but he watches his interactions with the others more closely now, finds that his body language does seem to be flirtatious. He doesn't know how he didn't notice it before. How Ian laughs more than necessary and touches the others when he can. The way he will go still during some arguments, at the bark of an alpha voice. The sneaky slide of his tongue between his lips.

Mickey notices, and Mickey grows increasingly bitter. He keeps telling himself that he doesn't fuckin' want Ian, but the truth is, Ian is the only alpha he's been attracted to on a personal level. Really, truly attracted to; not just because his biology calls for it. Which, sure, yeah, he fuckin' tried to convince himself. It's just his smell, it's just a biological reaction, except it's not. It's his laugh and his smile, it's his long fingers and the way he talks with his hands, it's the freckles across his nose and that one that rests half on his top lip, it's the way he gives and helps without wanting anything in fuckin' return, a generosity Mickey is not accustomed to. Yeah, he smells fuckin' great, and Mickey's body responds to that, but it's more than that. If it were just the smell, he might be able to turn it the fuck off. If he were the alpha he should be, there'd be no problem.

Mickey's smoking by the window again. It's his prime sulking spot. 'Cept it ain't fuckin' sulkin', he's just smokin', alright? Nothin' wrong with that. He doesn't glance around as the door opens. It's late, but he knows Ian's been at work. Wonders if he flirts with the alpha customers. Mickey scowls and spits out the window.

“Hey,” Ian says. He flicks on the light, and Mickey squints against it.

“You tryna fuckin' blind me?”

“Sorry.” Ian turns the light off again. He uses his phone to navigate across the room and turns on the lamp, which isn't quite as bright. Mickey sighs and flicks his butt away. “What're you sittin' in the dark for?”

Mickey shrugs.

“Okay.” Ian rolls his lips in, watching Mickey with amused eyes.

“The fuck are you lookin' at?”

“Nothin'. You wanna get high?”

“Where are you getting this from?”

“Gifts from my brother. To keep my spirits up. Or, y'know, trade for protection.”

“What would you need to do that for?”

“I don't, but he doesn't know that.”

Mickey laughs, feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders. Self preservation tells him to say no, tells him to put space between him and Ian and not get pulled into the soft, warm haziness of their shared high, but his vice tells him he needs a fix. Whether that's of Ian or the weed, he's not sure, but he's not sayin' no to either. He climbs onto Ian's bed and folds his legs beneath him as Ian lights up and takes the first drag. Mickey watches his cheeks hollow, feels that slow heat pooling in his stomach, Ian's scent fresh and heavy in his nose. His fingers brush Mickey's as he hands the joint across to him, his eyes crinkling as the side of his mouth rises in a smirk. Mickey has never wanted to fuck someone so much in his life.

It doesn't help that by the time they've gone through two joints, the weed is making him feel hot beneath his skin, slow and heavy and fuckin' horny as hell. The press of Ian against his side doesn't help, both of them stretched out on a single bed that is not big enough for the two of them. Ian's leg is pressed against his. One arm is folded behind his head, the other tracing lazy patterns on his stomach, and with each movement his bicep brushes against Mickey's. It's pleasant, but not enough. He breaks the silence just to distract himself, feeling bold.

“Hey, you ever fuck an omega?”

“Nah.”

“You a virgin, then?”

“Nah.” Ian chuckles, a low, warm sound that vibrates through him.

“Beta?”

“Mhm.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“Not tellin'.”

“The fuck?” Mickey sits up, squinting blearily down at Ian. His eyes are red rimmed. “Why not?”

“Why not what?”

“...What?”

“Wait, what?”

“No, I asked you what.”

“I asked you first.”

“No... Oh, wait, right, you were gonna tell me who you fucked.”

“I don't think I was.”

“Definitely were.”

“Have you fucked anyone?”

“Answer the fuckin' question.”

“Will you tell me if I tell you?”

Mickey considers for a moment, before giving a curt nod.

“Alright.” Ian stretches out with a lazy yawn. His shirt rides up as his hips roll up from the bed. Mickey tries not to look. Fails. Ian emits a soft moan as his back cracks, then drops back onto the bed. “Y'know the Kash N Grab?”

“Uh, yeah, pretty sure my brothers rob that joint.”

“Yeah. Used to give us loadsa shit until I got into it with Iggy.”

“No shit. You pounded on my brother?”

“Mhm.”

“Huh.” Mickey starts to say something, blinks, and has missed half of his own sentence. Ian is laughing. He doesn't know why, but finds himself giggling anyway. “Wait so, wait, what's that gotta do with who you fucked?”

“It was Kash.”

“Towelhead?” Mickey sits up again, so swift his head spins. He gapes down at Ian, who just grins back at him, eyes hooded.

“Uhuh.”

“The fuck. How'd that happen?”

“Dunno. Just did.”

“You still fuckin'?”

“Nah.”

“Yet you still work there?”

“Yeah. He ran off with some other guy. Another beta, I think.”

“Does his wife know?”

“Oh yeah. We stopped foolin' around after she found out. I dunno, kinda felt weird after that.”

“Jesus fuckin' Christ, Gallagher. You're full of surprises.” Mickey laughs, shaking his head, but beneath the warmth there's that sick twist of jealousy, a possessive curl that wants to claim Ian, a little part of him that thinks _mine_.

“Now you.”

“What?”

“You fucked anyone?”

“Fuck, no. No one knows I'm an omega, dumbass. The fuck you think?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess.”

They are silent for a while, just the sound of their breathing. Mickey closes his eyes and leans a little further into Ian's body heat. He might drift off for a while; it's hard to tell, when he feels like he's constantly teetering at the edge of consciousness. Maybe he's just lulled by the sound of Ian's breathing evening out. Eventually he's conscious enough to ask another question.

“You ever wanna fuck an alpha?” When he doesn't get an answer, he nudges Ian with his elbow. Ian stirs with grumbled nonsense. “Ey, mumbles, you ever wanna fuck an alpha?”

“Why'd I wanna do that?” Ian asks, answer muffled by a yawn.

“That ain't a no.”

“Fuck off.”

“I know you do.”

“Yeah right.”

“I do. I found your porn folder.”

Ian goes still beside him. Then he raises slowly onto one elbow, and looks down at Mickey, his expression blank. Mickey just grins at him, smug.

“What were you doin' in my stuff?”

“What does it matter? You're queer. You want alpha dick.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me, _faggot_.”

Ian looks like he might hit him. Mickey's body tenses up with anticipation, but he feels like he'd invite it. It's been too long since he's had a good scuffle. Perhaps fighting might let out some of his frustrations. Can't fuck Ian, but at least he can punch him, kick him, drive elbows and knees into him until his pale fresh is littered in bruises. Not quite as good as hickeys, but Mickey's mark on him all the same.

But Ian doesn't raise his hand. He just gets off the bed and moves to the window. He folds his arms across his chest and stares out into the darkness. Mickey immediately misses the press of his body, immediately regrets his words. He wishes he could draw them back in and they could fall asleep on Ian's bed, high and drowsy and comfortable.

“I don't care,” he says, when Ian doesn't say anything for several minutes. “And... I ain't gonna tell anyone. You kept my secret.”

Ian shrugs, stiff shouldered. Mickey sighs and sits up.

“Fuck, man, don't go makin' things awkward. So you're into alphas. Guess we got that in common, right?” He chuckles, tryna lighten the mood. Ian doesn't smile.

“Sure,” he says, curt.

“So, how does it work, anyway? You wanna see what it's liked to get fucked, or?”

“No.” Ian's defences seem to lower, and he turns back to Mickey. “It's not like that. I don't wanna be fucked or anything, I just... Find them attractive. I think it's more the power dynamic. Y'know, omegas usually wanna be fucked, right? There's just a fuckin'... rush, that comes with fuckin' an alpha. Someone strong and powerful and dominant, but willing to submit to you like that.”

“Ey man, maybe you're just into BDSM.”

Ian snorts, shaking his head.

“It's hard to explain.”

“Nah,” Mickey says. “I get it, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Guess it's hard to find alphas up for it though, right?”

“Got that fuckin' right.”

“Well, you kinky fucker, did I see you hidin' away another joint? Stop holdin' out on me.”

Ian laughs and fishes out the last joint from beneath his mattress. As they smoke it, the tension between them dissolves, until they're stretched out on the bed again. Ian talks about his family, far too many fuckin' names for Mickey to remember when he's this high. He talks briefly about his own, including an angry rant that even his fuckin' sister got the alpha gene but he missed out. Ian gives his wrist a comforting squeeze. Mickey's skin tingles where he touches.

“Here. Shotgun,” Mickey says. He inhales, leaning in close to Ian. Ian smiles, then parts his lips. Mickey exhales and he breathes it in, their lips so close Mickey swears he almost feels them brush.

They fall asleep on Ian's bed and Mickey wakes up tangled in his long limbs, Ian spooning against his back. He wants to stay. He wants to soak in Ian's scent and his heat. He wants to press back into Ian, wriggle his ass against his cock until he's hard, until he's ready to pin Mickey down and fuck him into the mattress. He feels his stomach twist in anticipation at the thought, and he's certain he's starting to get wet.

So he pulls himself out of Ian's grasp and goes back to his own bed. Better this way. No point in embarrassin' himself.

*

They fall back into their friendship again after that. Ian still spends time with the others, coming back thick with the scent of alphas, and it makes Mickey's skin bristle. At least he joins him for smokes by the window again, though never quite invading his space in the same way. His eyes sometimes flick away when Mickey looks at him. He's not quite sure what the fuck that's about.

Not that it matters. His eighteenth birthday is rolling closer, it won't be long until he's free from here. As for Ian, his sister is still tryna get him home. One way or another, they're going to be separated soon. Back to the south side where Mickey's hidden away and Ian's got his own life and they'll cease to exist to each other.

Good. He's sick of pining like a bitch.

It's almost three weeks after his heat that he starts to get the symptoms again. A whole week early.

“Fuck.” Mickey sits up. It's the middle of the night, and he's just woken from a wet dream. A wet dream featuring none other than Ian fuckin' Gallagher, of course. Who else? He's damp with sweat, but he's also soaked. He can feel it between his cheeks when he shifts, can fuckin' smell it hangin' heavy in the air. He's not quite there yet, but he's got a hot flush rolling over him, a dizzy head, the first touch of pure _need_. A whimper escapes before he's able to trap it in his throat.

“Mickey?” Ian's voice floats groggy from across the room, thick and hoarse with sleep. It sends another hot flush over Mickey, and he pants, lips parted. “You okay?”

“No.”

He hears the movement of Ian's blanket. Sees the dim outline of his form rising in the darkness. He sits up, sniffs the air. His body goes still, and Mickey knows he can smell it, smell how close he is.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“How much time do you have?”

“Not enough time to take the fuckin' El.”

“I'll get an Uber,” Ian says. He fiddles with his phone for a bit, then gets up and hurriedly gets dressed. Mickey follows his lead. He'd packed a bag at Ian's prompting, a change of clothes for after his heat. He throws it over his shoulder, too aware of every touch. The strap pressing through his clothes, the material of his shirt brushing against his skin, over his nipples, his damp boxers, clinging to his ass and thighs. Over-sensitive, the slightest brush of them is too much sensation.

“C'mon.” Ian's hand is warm at the base of his spine, guiding without shoving. Mickey moves. Gives in to Ian and trusts him to take control of the situation. Focusing on the press of each finger, the heat of his palm, the scent, so close.

The taxi ride is a blur. Mickey sits with his thighs squeezed together and his knuckles pressed against his lips, holding in any sounds. Each bump in the road vibrates up through him, makes him shiver with sensation. Ian watches him with concerned eyes, but says nothing. They split up once they get out; Mickey goes straight to the house while Ian gets him supplies. He's back quicker this time, obviously arranged for them to be prepared. A whole cardboard box full of food and water, and the same blankets as before. Mickey chews his lip as Ian makes up his bed.

“Ian,” he says, the word wavering.

“I know, Mick. I'll not be much longer.”

“Fuck. It's fine. You need to- You need to go right now if you're not gonna fuck me.”

Ian glances up, briefly surprised.

“That's just the heat talkin'.”

“It fuckin' ain't. I want you. I want your cock, right now, more than anythin'. I want you to fuckin' mount me, knot me. _Jesus_.” Mickey bites his tongue. Hard. Ian's right, it is the heat making him loose lipped, desperate enough to spill words he'd never dare otherwise. It's not just the heat, though. It's repressed desire bursting to the surface, weeks of closeness and longing and pining. He stares at Ian, expression open, feeling far too fuckin' vulnerable. Ian looks back at him. His pupils are blown. Mickey can see the bulge of his erection, and fuck, that looks promisin'.

“Mickey.” It's more growl than word, and Mickey's body shudders in response.

“Yes,” he says, breathy, head spinning. Ian's trapped in the same biological driven need as he is. This is it, he's gonna get what he wants, fuckin' finally. “Please.”

“Not like this,” Ian says, and pressing his wrist to his nose to block the scent, he leaves the room. Mickey stares after him in open mouthed shock. Then the first real wave hits, and he just makes it to the mattress before falling to his knees.

*

Just like V said, the birth control makes his heat a little easier, but he doesn't notice. The aching need still consumes him, and all he can think is that Ian left. He opened up, he fuckin' reduced himself to askin', like a fuckin' bitch in heat. Then again, ain't that what he is?

Mickey buries his face into Ian's scent and pretends the tears are desperate tears of frustration as he tries to satisfy himself with his own fingers. Tries and fails.

*

Ian meets him again afterwards. Ian washes his clothes, and makes him pancakes. Ian asks him how his heat went.

Mickey shrugs. Mickey says very little. Mickey can't look Ian in the eye without feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

“Look, Mickey,” Ian says, sitting across from him.

“Don't,” Mickey says.

“What? You just wanna pretend it didn't happen?”

“Yeah, actually.”

Ian looks hurt. Mickey ignores him. It's not like he's the one that had to deal with fuckin' rejection.

“Okay,” he says eventually, and he leaves it, just like he left Mickey.

*

This time it's Mickey who avoids Ian. He actually travels out of his room more often than usual, milling in the living room, or at the edge of the garden. He's still wary if any of the others get too close to him, but most of them assume the lingering omega smell is the residue of another heat spent with his secret mate.

It is a bad idea to start a fight with an alpha. He knows this. For one, it lets them get too close to him, close enough that they can find out that he doesn't wear the omega scent on his clothes, but that he is the source of it. For another, they've got a natural physical advantage over him. None of this seems to matter after he's spent half an hour chain smoking at the edge of the garden and watching Ian and Caleb rub against each other as they kick around a ball.

He follows Caleb when he goes to get a drink from the kitchen. As he's coming out the back door, Mickey steps in front of him. Caleb gives him a nod of greeting. Mickey jumps up and headbutts him hard, right in the middle of his stupid fuckin' face. Caleb stumbles back. Mickey's got the element of surprise on his side, and enough force behind that blow to send Caleb down. He follows, fists pummelling into him, but Caleb is quick, and strong, and it's not long before he's hitting Mickey back. It's not long before Mickey is taking more hits than he's delivering, until he can taste blood in his mouth and feel it damp on his face.

A loud, vicious growl sounds from above them, and they both pause in their scuffle to look up. Ian stands above them, his body quivering, his teeth bared. His eyes are on Caleb, who growls softly in response.

“Let him go,” Ian barks. It is not a request, but a command.

“Fuck off, Gallagher,” Mickey says, elbowing Caleb in the throat. He automatically swings a punch at his face, and as Mickey is knocked off of him, Ian takes his place. For as small and fluffy as Ian looks, he can take a decent hit, and he knows how to end a fight fast. It finishes with his hand on Caleb's throat, pressing down firm against his trachea until Caleb averts his gaze, submits to Ian. Ian stands and pulls Mickey up by the arm, pushing him towards the hall.

“Get your fuckin' hands off me.”

“Upstairs. Now.” There is no room in Ian's tone for argument, and Mickey feels himself automatically fall quiet until they reach their room. “What the fuck was that about?”

“Fuck you. I don't need you fightin' my battles for me.”

Ian shoves him. Mickey stumbles back. He comes forward, moves to hit Ian, but he's tired and aching, and that slows him down. Ian grabs his wrist, and when he tries to hit him with the other hand, Ian grabs that wrist as well. He turns them and slams Mickey against the door. Mickey automatically gasps, and through the pain he feels the first spark of heat. He glares up at Ian. Ian glares back, eyes dark.

“That was a stupid move,” he says, voice low and serious.

“What do you care?”

“I do, Mickey, because I care about you. I like you, but you wouldn't lemme tell you that.”

“You don't like me. You don't like omegas.”

“Not usually, no,” Ian agrees. “I like alphas. I like their bodies, I like their attitudes.”

“Right.”

“You've got that, Mickey. You hold yourself like an alpha. You act like an alpha.”

“But I ain't.”

“Right. You're a delectable smelling omega who'll get wet for me.” At Ian's words Mickey feels himself do just that, and he flushes, hating his fuckin' body so much. “Pretty fuckin' ideal, don't you think?”

“You don't mean that. It's just biology. You're just reacting to my scent.”

“Yeah, I am, but I also like talkin' to you, and I think you're funny, and I think you look real fuckin' hot. So it's not just your scent, Mick. It's all of you. You're the fuckin' best of both worlds.”

“But you don't wanna fuck me.” Mickey's words are soft, and he's almost embarrassed to say them out loud, but it's true.

“Not while you were in heat. I want you to be aware of it when we fuck; for it to be your choice, and not just your heat driving you to it.”

“Let go of my wrists,” Mickey says. Ian looks disappointed, but does as he's told. Once free, Mickey's hands go to Ian's hair, and he drags him down. Ian groans against his mouth, kissing him hard. Mickey licks into his mouth, rolling his body forward, pressing their hips together. He's wet and hard and half convinced he's got to fuck Ian before Ian changes his mind.

Ian catches him beneath the thighs and hoists him up, carrying him across to his bed. He drops Mickey onto the blankets and Mickey moans as he's surrounded by the smell of Ian. Ian pulls his own shirt off, and Mickey follows suit, firing it across the room. He loses his jeans and underwear next, and Ian laughs as he opens his own belt.

“Eager.”

“It's been like two fuckin' months, man. I've spent most of that fuckin' soaked.”

Ian produces a low growl at Mickey's words, kicking away his own jeans and underwear before he's crawling up between Mickey's thighs. He ducks down to nose at his cock, drawing his tongue up along the base in a slow, teasing line. Mickey whines and his hips arch up, but Ian plants his palm against Mickey's hipbone and presses him down again. He trails kisses up along Mickey's stomach and licks at a nipple as he slides two fingers into his ass, which is slick with his juices. Mickey keens, hips rolling back against Ian's fingers as his chest presses up to his mouth. Ian slowly withdraws his fingers and raises them to his nose.

“You smell so fuckin' good,” he says, and then sucks his fingers into his mouth. Mickey groans at the sight. “Taste fuckin' good, too.”

“Hurry the fuck up and get on me,” Mickey says, already feeling far too close. Ian laughs. He leans in and trails his nose along Mickey's temple, pressing kisses over his cheekbone. Mickey loses patience, turning his head and catching Ian's lips, pressing his tongue between them again. He can taste the lingering trace of himself in Ian's mouth.

“Bossy little shit,” Ian says, brushing a smear of blood away from the corner of Mickey's mouth. He catches his thighs and pulls him down the bed, pushing his legs up so he can drag his cock down along Mickey's crack. “Shit. I don't got any condoms here.”

“It's fine, I've been takin' the birth control.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I'm fuckin' sure. Jesus, Gallagher, just fuckin' fuck me already.”

“One fuckin' fuck comin' up.” Ian snorts as he lines up and starts to press forward into Mickey, both of them moaning at the sensation. Mickey can feel the stretch. He's not as open as he is during his heat, and even with as wet as he is, Ian is big enough to be felt. He goes slow, biting his lip as he leans over Mickey. Mickey watches him from half closed eyes, his own lips parted, tongue pushing at the corner of his mouth. Every time he expects to feel Ian's hips, he keeps going. When he does eventually bottom out, Mickey feels impossibly full.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck, Mickey. You're so tight, so wet, so fuckin' good.”

Mickey blushes at the words. Ian's lookin' at him like he's something precious, something good and worthwhile. He's never had anyone look at him like that before, ever. It makes his chest feel strange. He closes his eyes. Focuses on the feel of Ian, the scent of him, close and more potent than ever. Mickey hums in pleasure, experimentally rolling his hips down against Ian. Ian hisses, pressing even further into Mickey. Mickey gasps and arches his back.

“Move.”

“You sure?”

“Fuckin' move.”

Ian does. Slow at first, a long drag as he pulls out. The he thrusts in, hard and fast, and Mickey arches again. He starts up a steady pace, thumbing at Mickey's nipple as he fucks into him, stretching up to lick and nip at his neck. His mouth covers Mickey's pulse point, the area where, if Mickey were in heat, Ian would only need to bite down into to bond him. He whines, head falling back to bare his throat even more, drunk on sensation. He keeps emitting words between gasps and whines and moans, sometimes Ian's name, mostly swears, even one very breathy “oh God”.

“Faster.” It might sound more like a command if it didn't come with a whimper. “Harder.”

Ian obliges. His hands move to Mickey's hips, holding him as he ups his effort. His skin is flushed red and covered with a light sheen of sweat. His fringe clings to his forehead. His head tips back, muscles in his neck standing taut, in a mixture of effort and pleasure. The sight alone makes Mickey ache with desire. Once Ian's hand wraps around his dick, he's fuckin' gone, coming on his stomach as his ass clenches around Ian's cock. Ian isn't far behind, leaning over Mickey and grunting as he comes inside him.

They collapse into a mess of sweaty limbs, slick with Ian's come and Mickey's juices, but too tired to move just yet. Ian takes Mickey in his arms, brushes his hair back with tender fingers and presses a kiss to his temple. Mickey purrs, the sound rumbling through his chest and surprising the hell out of him. He's never fuckin' purred before.

“Aww.” Ian grins, wide and dopey. Mickey elbows him.

“Shut it.”

“Why? That's the cutest fuckin' sound I've ever heard, I love it.”

“'Cause if you don't shut it, I'm gonna kick your ass.”

“Okay.” Ian snorts, disbelieving.

“Look, I ain't gonna be your fuckin' good little omega now, okay? I don't need you to protect me, and I ain't gonna do what you say, and I don't ever want any fuckin' pups.”

“Woah.” Ian laughs, gently holding Mickey close. “I never assumed any of those things. I don't expect things to be any different, besides the fact we can maybe fuck and kiss some more, yeah?”

“Okay,” Mickey says after a moment. “And, uh. We could spend my next heat together. If you wanted to.”

“Yeah?” Ian's grin blossoms across his face, warm and bright. “That makes it easier for you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yes, I definitely want to.” Ian tips up Mickey's chin and kisses him firmly. Mickey bats him away.

“Alright, don't get all fuckin' soppy and clingy on me,” he says, before settling himself back against Ian's chest. A few moments later, the purr starts up again, involuntary. “And that don't mean nothin'.”

“Okay, Mick.” Ian doesn't sound like he quite believes him, but when he squeezes Mickey closer and presses a kiss to his hair, Mickey doesn't really care enough to protest.


	2. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the first part of this to a deadline and I didn't get to finish the story where I wanted, so I've done that now.  
> Also it was based on Charlie's request for omegaverse smut, which there wasn't a whole lot of in the first part, so that's been amended. And a whole lotta you wanted to see Mickey in heat. So you can all go live in Charlie's Sin Bin. I'm kinkshaming you all.  
> Just kidding. I'm not here to kinkshame, I'm here to kink fill with mediocre smut. Enjoy!

When Ian stirs, there's only dim grey evening light coming through the window. He blinks, disorientated from the shift in time, and stretches out. One arm is trapped, and he looks down to find Mickey curled against his chest, breathing softly. Ian smiles. He brushes Mickey's hair back from his forehead and presses a kiss there, breathing him in. He peppers a few more kisses over his cheek to wake him up. Mickey starts, hands flying up to shove Ian away. He almost topples off the bed, but Ian tightens the arm around him and pulls him back.

“Easy, tiger. It's just me.” Ian rubs Mickey's back in calming circles and feels him slowly melt against him again.

“Time's it?”

“Dunno. Looks late. How you doin'?”

“Tired.”

“Sorry.”

“S'okay.” Mickey presses his face in against Ian's throat, head under his chin. He nuzzles there, then shifts his head, dragging his jaw down over Ian's shoulder. Ian smiles and absently pets his hair while Mickey continues nuzzling against his chest. It takes him almost a full minute to realise what Mickey's doing.

“Are you scenting me?”

Mickey's gaze flick up, and he stares at Ian with raised eyebrows and wide eyed innocence. Ian doesn't buy it for a second.

“You fuckin' are.”

“Automatic instinct, man.”

“You can't go scenting me, people are gonna think it's weird if we smell like the same omega.”

“Maybe we both got lucky.” Mickey grins, raises his brows suggestively this time, tongue poking at the side of his mouth. Ian's eyes are drawn to the movement, and he absently mirrors it. Mickey smirks.

“Mick, you've got a month left. You don't wanna get caught this close to the end.”

“I don't want anyone to think you're available,” Mickey admits quietly, cheeks flushing. Then he huffs, shrugs as if he's casting off the emotion, and turns to roll out of the bed. Ian catches him round the middle and pulls him back flush against him, into a spooning position.

“Don't worry about what anybody else thinks. I only want you.”

“Ain't gonna stop Caleb or some of them other fuckers flirtin' with you.”

“It's cute that you're jealous.”

Mickey drives his elbow back into Ian's stomach. Ian winces, but laughs through it, rubbing the area beneath his jaw where his scent glands are along Mickey's head.

“Fuckin' hypocrite.”

“I need to scent you to make sure you smell like alpha.”

“Right. You ain't getting any possessive pleasure out of this.”

“Never said that.” Ian smirks, leaning forward to catch Mickey's ear between his teeth. Mickey gasps, squirms his naked ass back against Ian. Ian can smell his wetness before he feels it. “You're so easy to turn on.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Look how wet you get for me.” Ian reaches between them and presses a finger into Mickey, pushing it deep and curling it. Mickey pants, pressing back against it eagerly. “Just for me. No one's touched you like this before.”

“No.”

“No.” Ian adds a second finger. “And I'll fuck you so good that anyone else who tries will never live up to it.”

“Big talk, Gallagher. You gonna follow through on that?”

Ian pulls his fingers out and rolls Mickey onto his back. He leans over him, watching him with hooded eyes. There's a pink flush on Mickey's cheeks, his pupils are blown, and his lower lip is dark where he's been biting it.

“You're so fuckin' hot,” Ian says, ducking down to lick at Mickey's neck. Mickey's breathing gets heavier. Ian trails open mouthed kisses down to his pulse point, thrumming his tongue against it until Mickey's squirming again.

“You gonna chit chat all night or you gonna get on me?”

“Patience.” Ian nuzzles against Mickey's shoulder, scenting him. “We went quick last time. We didn't get any foreplay. I wanna get you so wet you're begging for me.”

“This ain't my heat.”

“I know.” Ian catches Mickey's nipple between his lips and flicks his tongue against it. He thumbs at the other one, before taking it between his thumb and forefinger. As he gently pinches it, he lightly bites the one in his mouth. Mickey gasps, his chest arching up against Ian's touch. His hips buck a few times, trying to find friction. Ian raises himself up, away, denying him. Mickey whines low in his throat.

Ian keeps his thumb toying at his nipple as he moves down his body, dotting kisses along his stomach. He pauses below the belly button, reaches his other hand up and drags his nails in a quick line from the centre of Mickey's chest all the way down.

“Fuck.” Mickey exhales sharply, arching again. His hips squirm as his wetness starts to slick over his skin and dampen the sheets. Ian grins. The smell is fuckin' intoxicating, and combined with the sight of Mickey, flushed and bare and eager before him, his cock is so hard it's throbbing. He presses his hips against the sheets briefly, looking to take the edge off, as he shuffles down further. Mickey watches him through hooded eyes, lips parted, tip of his tongue poking out. Ian sucks a hickey over his hip, then bites a line down the soft flesh of his thigh and sucks another bruise there. Mickey's breathing turns into breathy pants.

He pinches Mickey's nipple again as he trails his fingers over his cock, flicking his tongue against the slit. Mickey's head falls back against the pillow. Ian holds his hip to stop him bucking up. He trails his lips in feather light kisses over Mickey's cock, teasing, not giving him the friction he wants. When he's kissed his way to the base, he flattens his tongue and drags it all the way back up to the tip. Mickey turns his head and bites the pillow to stifle his moan.

“Don't.” Ian reaches up to pluck it away. “Wanna hear you.”

“Don't want anyone else to hear.”

“Fuck anyone else.”

“Ian.”

“Right. Fine.” Ian had briefly forgotten where they were, so lost in Mickey. He mourns the fact he can't make him moan and scream for him, but he knows he'll get it eventually. During Mickey's heat. He goes back to slowly driving him crazy, catching him beneath the thighs and pushing his legs up. Kissing down over his ass cheek, biting the flesh there, sucking another bruise.

“Seriously?” Mickey laughs, breathy, then freezes when Ian's hot breath ghosts over his hole. “What are you doin'?”

“Shh, relax.” Ian breathes deep, eyes fluttering shut at the scent of Mickey. A low growl rumbles in his chest; instinctive, possessive, primal. He presses forward, trailing his nose through the wetness and following it with his tongue. Mickey's thighs go tense, but he exhales sharply. Ian gently rubs his legs as he licks again, from his crack all the way up to his cock, which twitches in response. Ian looks up at Mickey with a smirk that is downright sinful. Mickey catches his eye, whimpers, and his head falls back again.

He only does a couple more teasing licks before he's using his thumbs to spread Mickey open, licking into his wetness, humming at the taste. Mickey pants and squirms beneath him, first wriggling away, then pressing down against his tongue. Ian sticks it out and slowly presses it into Mickey, tongue fucking him.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ, Ian.” One of Mickey's hands goes to Ian's hair and he grasps at it, tangling it around his fingers. His thighs are spread wide and his hips are angled up to give Ian better access. Ian doesn't answer, just starts picking up his speed, head bobbing as he works his tongue in and out of Mickey. His hand reaches up to take Mickey's cock, gently stroking it in time. “Alright you needa get the fuck in me now or this is gonna be over before you do.”

“Say please,” Ian says, moving back and looking up at Mickey with pupils blown wide.

“Fuck off, man, c'mon.”

Ian presses a finger into Mickey, slow. He curls it, finds Mickey's prostate, and rubs his finger along it. Mickey's jaw goes slack. He looks at Ian, who just continues to stare at him in challenge. He suddenly jabs his finger against Mickey's prostate, and his body jerks in a shock of pleasure-pain.

“Say please.”

“Ian.”

“Yes, Mickey?” He jabs his finger again. Mickey hisses. He then returns to the soft rubbing that has Mickey's hips rolling against him.

“Fuck. Fine. Please.”

“Please what, Mickey?”

“Please fuck me you fuckin' asshole.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Ian grins as he swiftly crawls up Mickey's body. He kisses him hard, and Mickey's hands go for the back of his hair, holding him close as Mickey licks into his mouth. Ian parts his lips willingly, slides his tongue against Mickey's, sharing the taste of him, and makes a soft sound in response. Mickey kisses like he wants to claim him; all heat and dominance, not the way Ian expects an omega to kiss, but an alpha. He nips at Mickey's lip as he pulls back and starts to line himself up.

“Wait, but not like this.” Mickey pushes Ian back. Ian raises his eyebrows, silently questioning. “I wanna try you takin' me from behind.”

“Oh. Sure, we can try that.”

Mickey positions himself leaning over the bed and Ian steps behind him. He rubs a hand soothing on Mickey's back, trailing the thumb of his other hand down through Mickey's wetness. Mickey huffs out an impatient sound and steps his feet a bit wider. Ian gets the message. He steps forward and lines himself up, slowly pressing into Mickey's tight, wet warmth.

“Jesus, man. If you're this big already, I can't imagine what it'll be like when you knot me.”

Ian chuckles, continuing to rub Mickey's back soothingly.

“You actually will be beggin' for my knot.”

“Shut up.”

“It's alright. I think it's hot.”

“Y'know what I think is hot? You shutting up and fucking me.”

Ian brings his open palm down against Mickey's ass cheek, smacking him hard. Mickey cries out, glaring over his shoulder at Ian. Ian grins, smooths a hand over the area that is already starting to redden, and then spanks him again. This time he catches Mickey bite his lip. He does it one last time. Mickey's head drops between his shoulders and a quiet, stifled whimper escapes on his sharp exhale. Ian smirks, satisfied, and takes Mickey by the hips.

His patience for slow and soft is gone. He's stretched out teasing long enough; they're both ready for release now, bodies thrumming like live wires. He drives his hips into Mickey with force and speed, fucking him deep. He keeps one hand on Mickey's hip and reaches for his shoulder with the other, pulling Mickey back against him, shifting the angle so he can press even further into him. Mickey breathes heavy through his nose, biting his lip hard to stifle any sound.

“Wanna fuck you so hard you feel me for days,” Ian says between grunts, his voice soft and breathy. “Every time you sit, every time you move, you'll remember this.”

Mickey whines, his body starting to tense, and Ian can tell he's close. He drops the hand from his hip to reach around and start stroking his cock. Mickey barely lasts a minute, dropping to press his face into the sheets, sound stifled as he comes. Ian's hand tightens on his shoulder and he ruts against him more wildly, sweat trickling down his forehead, eyes screwed shut against the effort. He follows Mickey with his own low moan. He pulls out slowly, leaving a trail of wetness and come leaking from Mickey.

“Stay there,” Ian says. He touches Mickey's lower back; soft, brief. Pulling on a pair of sweatpants, he goes to the bathroom. He returns with a towel, one corner wet with warm water. He wipes Mickey clean, then pats him dry with the rest of the towel. Mickey's legs shake when he stands on them, and Ian puts a gentle arm around his waist. “Maybe we should sleep on your bed until I can get clean sheets.”

“Yeah.” Mickey huffs a laugh. “Okay.”

*

Mickey's body is aching and tired, but he feels completely satisfied. His limbs are still shaking, and he lets Ian keep an arm around him until they've crossed to his bed. Ian moves their drawers in front of the door so none of the other kids will burst in on them, then comes back. Mickey's lying at the edge of the bed, curled on his side, so Ian steps over him and wriggles into the space between his back and the wall. He dots light kisses down the back of Mickey's neck, slipping an arm around his waist and holding him close. Mickey's fingers skim over Ian's knuckles and Ian catches them between his own, nuzzling into the side of Mickey's throat.

Ian's heat is soaking into his back. Ian's scent hangs around him like a cloud; on his sheets, on his skin, rolling in waves from the source behind him. Ian is solid and firm behind him; keeping him close, keeping him safe. His chest rumbles with another purr and he closes his eyes in irritation. He can feel Ian smiling against his skin. It would be so easy to just give in to the comforting heat, to his tired body, to the sexual satisfaction spreading over him like a blanket. So easy to just fall asleep in Ian's arms.

The purring sparks his discomfort. It is so purely an omega behaviour, and his entire life has been a rebellion against omega behaviour. He never thought he would fuck an alpha for anything other than relief during his heat, and that they wouldn't mean anything, would just be a means to an end, but here he fuckin' is. Curled up and purring like a house pet as Ian rubs circles on his tummy. He'd gotten wet for him, bent over for him, fuckin' asked him to fuck him like a bitch. Mickey feels a wave of queasiness wash over him and he throws Ian's arm off, sitting up.

“You okay?” Ian props up on his elbow, looking at Mickey with concern that only further annoys him. Like he's fuckin' vulnerable. “Was I hurtin' your ribs or somethin'?”

“No. You weren't hurtin' anything, I'm fuckin' fine.”

“Okay.” Ian blinks slowly, but otherwise doesn't respond to the harshness in Mickey's tone.

“Maybe you should sleep in your own bed.”

“It's covered in come.”

“Yeah, well, whose fault is that?”

“Have I done something wrong?”

“Just 'cause I fucked you, doesn't mean I wanna be cuddle buddies.”

“You were okay with it earlier.”

“Changed my mind.”

“About every thing?”

“No. Maybe. I dunno.”

“Okay.” Ian sits up, facing Mickey. “Any reason you changed your mind?”

“I don't wanna be treated like an omega.”

“How was I treatin' you like an omega?”

“All that shit you said. “Beg for it.” Like I'm some bitch.”

“That's not because you're an omega, Mickey. It's because you got turned on when I was sayin' stuff the first time. I thought you liked it.”

“I-” Mickey flushes. “Do. At the time.”

“Not afterwards?”

“I dunno.”

“I can be quiet next time.”

“Right. Well. What about all the lickin' and usin' your fingers and playin' with my fuckin' nipples?”

“I wanna make you feel good. I thought that was obvious.”

“You can make me feel good with your dick.”

“That's not all sex is.”

“What, so you'd do that stuff with an alpha?”

“Yeah. I'd try it. If they liked it, I'd keep doin' it.” Ian's lookin' at him with open, earnest eyes, and it's easy for Mickey to get sucked in, automatically lean a little closer. “If you're not into something, all you've gotta do is tell me. I'll stop.”

“The scenting-”

“You scented me first.”

“Yeah, but-”

“It has a logical advantage for us.”

“You're markin' me.”

“Yes, because I like you, and I thought you liked me, so in our mutual interest my instinct would be to mark my mate.”

“Ey, I didn't say nothin' about bein' mates.”

“Right. Sorry.” Ian sighs, shifting onto his knees.

“Where are you goin'?”

“To my bed, where you told me to go.”

“Wait-”

“I thought we were on the same page, but we're obviously not.”

“Just, hey, hold on a sec.” Mickey puts his hands on Ian's hips and pushes him back down. “You ain't just tellin' me what I want to hear?”

“I don't even know what you would want to hear. If I tell you I'm not into omegas, I'm worried you'll just take it like an insult.”

“So you're not into me.”

“Mickey.” Ian sighs again, but flops onto his back this time, hands over his face. “I think I've made it real clear that I am very much into you.”

“But I'm not-”

“I don't care what you are or what you're not. You're _you_. I am attracted to _you_. I want to fuck _you_. I want to kiss _you_. I want to make _you_ feel good. If something I do does the opposite of that, tell me. 'Cause I'm not tryna treat you any way you don't wanna be treated.”

“Right.”

“Or if you don't wanna do this, then, fine. Tell me that. We'll just go back to being friends.”

“You think we could?” Mickey glances at Ian from the corner of his eye. He keeps his tone light, casual, but he knows he would struggle to go back to how they were after he's seen what they could be. After he's felt what Ian can do to him.

“We could try.”

“I don't wanna be friends.”

“Then what do you want, Mick?”

Mickey is quiet for a long time. Ian sighs once more, and rolls over to face the wall. Mickey looks at the dim outline of his figure; the dip between his shoulder blades, the long line of his back disappearing beneath the sheets, his red hair spilling across the pillow. He's gonna regret it if he gives this up, now. It's gonna drive him mad if Ian goes back to laughing and flirting with the other alphas. He'll go fuckin' blind with jealousy, get in more fights, make a mess of everything in the hopes Ian will fuckin' notice him again. Notice him after he was the one to turn him away.

“I want this,” Mickey says softly, pressing a kiss to Ian's shoulder. Ian doesn't move, and Mickey wonders if he's fallen asleep. “I want us. I just- Alright, I never done this before. I'm used to ignorin' all the... Omega parts of me. Except during my heats when I can't ignore them. It's... It's hard, and kinda weird. I don't wanna be like this, but you... You make me feel real good.”

Then Ian stirs, slowly rolling over. He reaches up to touch Mickey's cheek gently, then eases him down to rest against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Mickey bristles at first, acting annoyed to be treated so gently, but he feels like a child being held like this; secure, carefree.

“I want this, too. I want us. I need you to be honest with me so we can make this work.”

“I'll try.”

“Good enough.” Ian grins. He kisses Mickey's forehead, then the tip of his nose, then softly on the lips. Mickey breaks away to yawn loudly. “Now let's get some fuckin' sleep.”

*

Ian tries his best to stop things feeling weird between them now. He feels like he has to have a constant stream of conversation going, like if they lapse into silence some of the awkward tension could seep between them. He gives Mickey unimportant updates about his family, or commentary of his mundane shifts; he talks about music he likes and what his favourite film is and the first time he knew he liked alphas for sure (thirteen, Roger Spikey). Mickey is not one to freely share information when he's not high, so Ian gets little in return, but he keeps trying.

Once his sheets are cleaned, he goes back to sleeping on his own bed. They still get off together at least once a day; usually blowing each other in the mornings, and fucking in the evenings. Sometimes they'll stay together in a tangle of limbs afterwards, skin on skin, sharing warmth, the gentle vibration of Mickey's purr humming through them. It's a sound that Ian finds endlessly comforting; it makes his chest feel full, gives him a deep sense of satisfaction that lasts longer than his orgasm. He brought Mickey to this point, happy and comfortable enough that his body feels the need to vocalise it.

If they fall asleep together, they're always back in their own beds by morning.

He's less adventurous when they fuck, now. Eyes always flicking to Mickey's face to make sure he's not crossing any unspoken boundaries. Doesn't let his hands wander as much, or spend as long preparing Mickey. It's still good, but Ian thinks it could be better, thinks it was better, thinks he definitely made Mickey feel better before, but he doesn't want it to stop altogether, so he keeps quiet, keeps careful.

They spend most of their time at the home together in their room. Sometimes Ian can convince Mickey to come sit on the grass with him. Summer is in full swing, and he wants to enjoy the warm weather, wants to bask in the heat and the light. The sun always lifts his spirits. Mickey grumbles a lot, but Ian never keeps him out long. Misses being able to touch him freely, a liberty only their room provides.

It's one particularly warm day that Ian's managed to drag Mickey out. They're stretched out on a patch of grass beneath a tree that Mickey keeps saying is probably saturated in piss. Ian nudges his lower leg with his foot and tells him to shut up, smiling lazily. He yawns and lengthens his body like a cat, soaking up the heat.

“Ain't your white ass gonna burn, firecrotch?”

“Long as I roll into the shade every twenty minutes I'm good.”

“Twenty fuckin' minutes is long enough to be lounging out here,” Mickey grumbles.

“Gotta piss. I'll steal you something from the kitchen on my way back if you stay out with me.”

Mickey huffs. Ian takes that as a sign of his agreement and dashes off with a grin. On his way back from the bathroom he scales the kitchen counter and pulls down the secret treat box propped on top of the cupboards. Not a great secret hiding place, to be fair. They're basically beggin' kids to break into it. He fishes out a Snickers for Mickey and hops down again, landing easily. He jogs out the back door, then freezes when he sees Caleb standing over Mickey. Mickey's back is against the tree, and while his expression is sharp, Ian can see the tenseness in his shoulders. His heat is slinking closer; Ian's starting to smell the change in his scent. If Caleb gets too close, he will, too.

Something twists tight and sickening in Ian's stomach. It's not quite the same flash of anger from Mickey's previous run in with Caleb. This is something more primal, more vicious, more possessive. Mickey is his mate. Whether Caleb is making a move or meaning him harm, he should not be that far in his space. Ian bristles as he strides across the yard in long, confident steps. He smirks, vicious, lip curling away from his teeth to bare them. He can feel the growl reverberating through him before he hears it, a sharp sound, piercing the air between them like a crack of lightning. Caleb goes still, head turning to look back at Ian.

“He giving you trouble, Mick?” Ian's snarl softens into more of a natural smirk, and he raises a brow. Mickey's eyes flick to him, then back to Caleb.

“Take more than him to give me trouble.”

“I was just tellin' Mickey I don't appreciate him startin' fights for no reason,” Caleb says. He doesn't meet Ian's eye, head inclined.

“And I was just tellin' Caleb that his stupid face is plentya reason.”

Caleb growls at Mickey, and Mickey growls back. Convincing, but knowing it's not real, Ian can hear how practised the sound is. It's lacking the real bite of an alpha growl, and it doesn't roll out of his chest with the same ease. Mickey's working the sound in his throat. A good imitation if someone isn't looking close enough, but even his stance is wrong. Defensive, but not in the right way. Ian's own growl raises in response to Caleb's, and he takes a half step between them.

“Leave him alone and he won't start any more fights,” Ian says.

“I never did anything to him to start with.” His shoulders square. His chest puffs. His eyes rise like he's considering taking Ian on. Ian stares back hard, his lip curling up again, his body coiled tight and ready to spring at the slightest movement. Caleb seems to reconsider. “Whatever.”

They watch him leave, then Mickey kicks Ian's ankle.

“Told you I don't need you fightin' my battles.”

“Shut up and eat this,” Ian says, throwing the Snickers at Mickey's face. He catches it just before it smacks him, and stares at the wrapper for a moment. Ian sees the corner of his mouth twitch before he frowns, but Ian knows it's just to hide his smile.

“Thanks,” he says, in a tone that suggests he doesn't mean it, but the fact that he's even bothered to say it tells Ian it does. He drops by Mickey's side, breathing in the mixed smell of cut grass, chocolate, and Mickey.

*

Mickey's head falls back as Ian kisses the side of his neck, and he ruts up against Ian's thigh. He feels hot all over, dizzy, his throat dry and his hole soaked. Ian nips lightly at his pulse point and he pants, open mouthed. Ian touching him when he's high feels even better than normal.

“This okay?” Ian breathes against his ear. Mickey nods, tugging at Ian's shirt. Ian sits back and pulls it over his head obediently, then looks to Mickey for guidance on what to do next. Mickey sighs.

“Look, this has gotta stop.”

“What?”

“You. Actin' like, I dunno, I'm gonna fuckin' break if you do the wrong thing.”

“I'm just tryna do what you want.”

“Okay, well, I want you to go back to what you were doin' before.”

“But you said-”

“I know what I fuckin' said. I'm changin' my mind. It was better when you were all pushy and in control.”

“So you want me to take control again?”

“Ey, likin' what I like don't make me a bitch.”

“Mickey. No one's sayin' that. I'm just tryna be clear on what you want so I can try and avoid fuckin' up.”

“Right. Well.” Mickey averts his eyes, feeling a flush climb his cheeks. Swears he never fuckin' blushed in his life before he met Ian Gallagher. “The second time we banged. I liked that. Be like that again.”

“Okay,” Ian says, cupping Mickey's jaw and kissing him briefly. Then he's grabbing the bottom of his shirt and roughly pulling it off. His palm strokes up over Mickey's ribs and then he pinches his nipple. Mickey gasps. He feels himself clench, throbbing to be filled, the smell of his wetness rising in the air between them. “Like this?”

Ian's voice is low, his breath warm against Mickey's face as he suddenly catches him behind the knees and tugs, landing Mickey on his back. He curls his fingers beneath Mickey's waistbands and pulls his underwear and sweatpants down together. Mickey watches him slack jawed, nodding.

“Just like that.”

Ian takes the command to heart, teasing Mickey like before. He goes through the same routine of playing with his nipples, dropping bruises over his body, sucking him off and eating him out, all before he fucks him hard. The only difference is that Mickey stays on his back this time, thighs spread wide, legs hitched up over Ian's hips. Ian drops kisses against his lips every few thrusts, and buries his face in Mickey's neck when he comes. They stay a tangle of panting limbs until Mickey starts to feel drowsy. Then Ian moves away to do clean up.

“Don't go back to bed tonight,” Mickey says. He feels vulnerable, exposed. He's tryna act like he don't give a shit either way, but his voice comes out sounding soft and small.

“Okay,” is all Ian says in response, slipping in beside him and taking Mickey in his arms. He kisses his temple, then meets his lips in a long, languid kiss. Mickey feels himself melt against Ian, tension draining from him automatically.

“Man, that was good.”

“It was. You shouldn't be ashamed of what you like.”

“I don't-”

“I know. But everyone's different. It doesn't mean you're more or less you.”

“You're startin' to sound like fuckin' Air Supply.”

Ian huffs a laugh. Mickey fights back a smile, dragging his jaw along Ian's shoulder, automatically scenting him. Once the instinct to mark and claim is satisfied, he rests against Ian's chest, and the low rumble of his purr starts up. He feels more than sees the quirk of Ian's grin. He squeezes Mickey closer to him, and as much as he hates the fuckin' sound of his purr, he does feel pretty fuckin' content.

*

Fiona wins custody of Ian and his siblings a week before Mickey's next heat. Two weeks before Mickey's birthday.

“Well?” Mickey turns from where he'd been smoking at the window when Ian steps through the door, eyebrows raised in question.

“She won.”

“Shit. That's great. Told you you'd be fine.”

“Yeah.” Ian manages a flicker of a smile. He clicks the door shut behind him and steps into the room.

“Ey, isn't this what you wanted? Why you lookin' like someone stood on your dog, man?”

“I don't have a dog.”

“Figure of speech.”

“'Cause.” Ian stops beside Mickey. He looks at him with a sad smile, reaching up to trail his fingers along Mickey's jaw. Mickey bats him away. “I have to leave you.”

“Whatever. I'm outta here in a few weeks, anyway. Better than bein' stuck here without me, right?”

“I guess.”

Ian sighs. Mickey play punches him in the stomach.

“Don't be such a fuckin' downer. It's a few weeks. I've survived my whole life without you. I can manage a couple of fuckin' weeks.”

“I know you can. I'll miss you, though.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“You wanna keep some of my clothes? Mask your scent.”

“Maybe.” Mickey brushes his bottom lip twice with his thumb before he nods. “Thanks.”

“Course.”

“You just come back to get your shit?”

“Not just to get my stuff,” Ian says softly, closing the gap between them, so close his nose brushes Mickey's.

“No?” Mickey blinks up at him, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. Ian grins back, catching Mickey beneath the ass and hauling him up as he kisses him, backing over to his bed.

“Wanna go out with a bang.”

*

It is extremely boring without Ian around. He'd left three packs of smokes for Mickey when he went, and already Mickey has smoked his way through two of those. He's only on the third day.

He sticks mostly to the room, his omega scent stronger approaching his heat. He's lucky in that he hasn't been assigned a new room mate yet. He's hoping his luck holds until he's free of this dump. He told them his bed was Ian's, so they stripped away his sheets and left the ones with fragments of Ian's scent clinging to them. He sleeps in Ian's bed, wears Ian's clothes, surrounds himself with Ian's scent as if somehow that will fill the hole of his absence. It is a weak substitute.

Ian texts constantly. Tells Mickey about his day, his family, how he's settling in home again, stories from his sibling's foster placements. He tells Mickey he misses him a lot. Mickey calls him a fuckin' pussy, but he's glad. Glad he's not the only one pining like a little bitch.

His heat slides in slowly as the week progresses. It starts with wet dreams, so vivid he wakes up with the memory of Ian's hands on him, his mouth against his skin, fingers working him open. Hot flushes come next, at random intervals, tinting his skin pink and making his head spin in a dizzy rush. Then there's the constant arousal at the pit of his stomach; low, liquid heat pooling above his groin, making his insides twist and his skin buzz. He leaves when he thinks he's still got a day left. He packs up his shit, doesn't even wait until nightfall, just leaves with no intention of returning. He's only got a week after his heat until he's eighteen. State won't be fucked findin' him then.

_I miss you._

_**so u keep sayin** _

_Just don't want you to forget._

_You must be getting close to your heat now. I bet you're all wet and horny_

_Wish I could be there to help ):_

_**mayb u can** _

_You wanna sext?_

_**no im outside** _

_What??_

_**ur house** _

Mickey shifts his bag to his other shoulders, feeling restless, hot beneath his skin. It's only a few seconds before Ian's head appears at the upstairs window. He's briefly surprised, then a large, fuckin' goofy grin spreads across his face. He waves at Mickey like a dork, before disappearing from view. Not long after, he bursts out the front door and jogs down the path.

“S'up?”

“Mickey! What are you doin' here? Is it time? I thought you were gonna text me when it was time, I'm not even-”

“Ey, alright, calm down. Not yet, but soon. Didn't wanna stay there any longer just in case.”

“Okay. Well, uh, you wanna go next door? I already started to get ready, but there's no food or anything across yet.”

“Sure.”

“Back door's open. I'll be over soon.”

Mickey shifts his bag higher and dips down the narrow alley between the two houses. He lets himself in the back door and goes through to the living room. Ian's been tidying. The place is spotless; the floor freshly brushed, the surfaces dusted. A mini fridge has been plugged in to the wall. There's fairy lights strung up in the corner over the mattress, which has several blankets and a load of pillows on it for Mickey to nest with. He sucks his lower lip as he looks it over. More effort than anyone has ever given him. More than he ever expected anyone to.

“Not bad, Gallagher,” he says to no one, then rubs away his soft smile before Ian catches it.

*

Ian finds Mickey rearranging the blankets when he comes through with a box of supplies; water, juice, some sandwiches he's made up. There's a box of crackers and a bag of chips balanced on top. He sits the box down and starts putting the sandwiches and liquids into the fridge.

“You nesting?” he asks, smiling over his shoulder. Mickey glances at him, gives a brief nod, then goes back to forming the blankets into a lumpy circle. “I read about that. That's why I brought more blankets.”

“You read about it?”

“Yeah. I was researchin' heats. Just to know what to expect, y'know.” He'd also wanted to make it the best for Mickey that he could, but he doesn't mention that.

“What you can expect is to be out of your mind horny.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just, I've never done a heat. I've never been in rut. I've never knotted anyone before.”

“Your research include porn?”

“...A little.”

“That do anything for you?”

“Sure. There was an alpha on screen.” Ian pulls a face. Mickey scowls and throws a pillow at him. He catches it easily, laughing as he comes across to the mattress and hands Mickey the pillow back. “Sorry it's not the best. Didn't really have enough time to get a real bed or any shit.”

“It's fine.” Mickey shrugs, then nods at the lights. “What's up with this romantic crap you're pullin', though?”

“Thought they'd be less annoyin' than the full lights. Not bright enough to annoy us if we're takin' naps between waves.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And.”

“And, okay, fine, I thought they created a nice mood.”

“You are so fuckin' gay, man.”

“Shut up.” Ian catches Mickey's chin and kisses him.

“So gay,” Mickey says against Ian's lips.

“Mhm.” Ian trails his nose over Mickey's cheek, up along his temple, and presses it against his hair. He inhales deeply. “You smell real good.”

“It's the heat. Bein' around you is bringing it on faster.”

“Better finish getting ready then.” Ian presses a kiss to Mickey's hair. “I'll be back soon.”

Ian jogs back over to his house to collect a few more things to tide them over the next couple of days. Fiona's coming down the stairs when he comes in the back door.

“Hey. Where've you been?”

“Next door. Mickey's here.”

“His heat again?”

“Yeah.” Ian pauses. He hasn't had the chance to mention to his family yet that he and Mickey are a thing. He drums his fingertips against the counter and looks at Fiona. “I'm spending it with him.”

“What?”

“We, uh. We've kinda been a thing for a while-”

“Can't be more than a few weeks.”

“He wants me to.”

“Ian. Sharing a heat's a big deal. You get that, right? It ain't like normal sex. It's more... Intense. It 'causes a lot of feelings.”

“What does?” Jimmy appears down the stairs and Ian rolls his eyes. He didn't want this to be a whole family discussion.

“Ian wants to share a heat with an omega.”

“Shit, man. You've got a mate? Since when?” Jimmy grins, crossing to Fiona, hand automatically going to her hip.

“A while now.” Ian waves the question away, attention back to Fiona. “I'm going with him. I already said I would, and I want to. I wanna be there for him.”

“Ian.” Fiona sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Fiona. I'm doin' this.”

“Okay. Will you at least be safe?”

“He's on birth control.”

“That ain't gonna stop you tryna bond him. Once you start, hormones flyin' everywhere, you're gonna wanna bite him.”

“I won't-”

“Look, this isn't about what you think you'll do.” Fiona's hands are on her hips, in her mom stance, no bullshit. “When you're in the middle of a heat, it's all instinct. And instinct is gonna tell you to bond that omega. Trust me on this. You dunno, 'cause you ain't shared anyone's heat before, but I'm tellin' you.”

“Alright. What do I need to do, then?”

“Mickey got a collar?”

“Uh. No.”

“I might have an old one lying around,” Jimmy says. “Not like I'll need it again.”

“Damn right you won't.” Fiona grins, curling an arm around Jimmy's waist and pulling him to her side. She ducks down and presses her face to his neck, nipping at his bond point. Ian sighs, impatient.

“Right, well, can I have the collar then? I need to get back to Mickey.”

“No problem. I'll go grab it for you,” Jimmy says, jogging up the stairs.

“Just. Be smart, okay?” Fiona takes his face in her hands. Ian meets her eyes for a moment, before nodding, and she kisses his forehead. “I'm glad you've got someone you care about.”

“Thanks. I really like him, Fi.”

Fiona smiles. She strokes her hand down over his cheek, then pats him twice, before she steps away. She sends him back with another armful of food, Jimmy's old collar propped on the top. It's thick, good quality leather, cushioned on the inside so it won't chafe against the throat. The outside bears marks of use; the deep indents of teeth where Fiona's tried to bite through.

“The fuck is that?” Mickey eyes Ian warily as he approaches with the collar in hand. He tosses it onto Mickey's lap.

“Protection. Fiona says we gotta use it so I don't accidentally bond you.”

“Are you fuckin' serious? You're gonna collar me like a dog?”

“It's to stop me biting you, Mick.”

“Bullshit.”

“If I bond you, it's gonna be harder to hide that you're an omega. You can mix your scent with alpha now, pretend the omega is someone else's, but if you smell like bonded omega it won't make sense if you also smell like single alpha.”

“You won't be a single alpha.”

“There'll be hints of your scent in mine. You'll just smell like your mate scented you.”

Mickey grumbles a bit, but Ian's logic wins out, and he puts the collar on. Ian locks it into place for him, flicking the small padlock hanging off the back. He puts the key in the next room, out of reach. When he comes back, Mickey's starting to undress. His cheeks are tinged pink, the flush starting to roll down his chest, pale skin splotchy with it. His lips are parted, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. His heat hasn't hit yet, but he's wet already. Ian can smell it, and it makes his mouth water. He starts stripping off his clothes as well. Folds both theirs and sets them aside. Mickey looks at him. His pupils are wide.

“Soon?”

Mickey nods. He curls naked in the nest he's made from the blankets, patting the space beside him. Ian settles himself beside Mickey, pulling him close, wrapping his limbs around him. He cups Mickey's cheek and kisses him, slow and deep, relearning the feel and taste of his mouth after their time apart. Mickey makes a soft sound against his lips. He is more pliant beneath Ian's touch than he has ever been, letting Ian shift him, letting Ian dominate the kiss. Ian's tongue brushes his and Mickey sighs into his mouth. Ian trails a thumb against Mickey's nipple and his body twitches. The smell of his arousal gets stronger.

Mickey nuzzles against his shoulder, dragging the underside of his jaw, leaving his scent on Ian's skin. Ian raises his head, gives Mickey more space. His hands are on Mickey's back, rubbing in soft circles. Mickey moves over him, scenting along his chest, his other shoulder, up along the side of his face. Ian swallows. He feels the urge rising within himself as well, and he carefully flips them, pressing Mickey down into the blankets. Mickey breathes shallowly, looking up at Ian with wide, glassy eyes. Ian slowly ducks down, purposeful, and gently butts his head against Mickey's He drags his jaw up over Mickey's temple and the side of his head, scenting him back. After a couple of minutes of scenting each other, Mickey starts to pant.

“Ian-”

“I know.”

He does. He can smell it now, rising off Mickey's skin in hot waves. Mickey's own scent amplified. Ian's heart beats harder in his chest. He feels heat flash through him, like he's been splashed with a bucket of hot water. His cock goes from half hard to full mast within seconds, and he presses it down against Mickey, grinds lightly. Mickey whimpers. He spreads his legs, thighs wide. There's a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wriggles beneath Ian, ass slick with his wetness. Ian kisses him, hot and hard now, possessive and claiming. He grasps Mickey's thighs, fingers pressing hard enough to leave white indents. Mickey's hips try to roll up against him. Ian grinds down again.

“Fuck,” Ian says. His voice is shaky, breathy. He feels high. He feels fucked up. He can feel control slipping from his grasp. He feels fuckin' consumed, like the world is falling away and Mickey is all that exists, Mickey and his own hard cock, Mickey's wet hole that he needs to fuck and fill, Mickey smelling so potent and sounding so needy.

“Yeah.” Mickey clings to his shoulders. He pulls his knees up, trying to present himself for Ian. Ian kisses him again, sloppily moving their tongues together. Then it's too much. He has to be in Mickey, now, can't bear it any more. He pushes Mickey's thighs up and slams into him; no prep, no teasing, no slow press. He thrusts all the way in with no warning. Mickey fuckin' keens and arches his back, thighs clenching around Ian's hips. “Fuck, fuck, yes, Ian, fuck.”

“Mick.” Ian breathes in short, sharp pants. His hips have started moving already, without consideration, pushing into Mickey in thrusts hard enough to push him up the blankets. Mickey just curls his arms around Ian's neck and pushes back against him. His eyes closed, his head tipped back, his lips parted and saliva damp. He's fuckin' gorgeous. He's delectable. He's the hottest thing Ian has ever seen. “Fuck.”

“Harder, Ian. Please. Harder. Please, please, fuuu-ck.”

Ian does his best to comply. He's already dripping with sweat, his fair skin red with the effort, his face screwed up as he tries to fuck even harder into Mickey. He understands why they call it being in rut now, because that's all he's doing, desperately rutting against Mickey in the hope it'll take the edge off, free him of the ache in his groin. Mickey's eyes are closed and his mouth open as he takes Ian's punishing tempo. He whimpers softly, high in his throat, wriggling against Ian's cock like he's fuckin' desperate.

“Jesus Mickey you feel so good. Smell so good. Look so good.”

“Ian. Ian, please.” Mickey's babbling, his short nails dragging hot lines of pain over Ian's back. “Need you.”

“I'm here.”

“Need your knot. Need you to fill me.”

“Fuck, yes, okay. Soon.”

Then Ian's gums begin to ache, and he gets what Fiona meant. The instinct to bond flashes over him so sudden it's shocking. He breathes harshly through his nose, looking at Mickey's tipped back head, the stretch of his throat. Then he's biting, teeth sinking into leather, growling in vicious frustration as he shakes his head, trying to shake the collar free. Mickey clenches around him, and his hips stutters. He can feel himself swelling. For the first time, he feels his knot, hard and heavy at the base of his cock. It jams against Mickey's entrance as he pushes back in, big, stretching. Mickey bites hard into his lower lip, whining as he keeps pushing down against Ian. Slowly, slowly it sinks into him, until it's over halfway in, and then it slides the rest of the way in a quick jolt.

“Hooo-ly fuck.” Mickey exhales shakily, open mouthed. He quivers as he comes, tightening around Ian's cock, and Ian follows him over with a low, guttural moan, pressing his body down against Mickey's.

*

Mickey's entire body shakes with the force of his orgasm. He feels it everywhere; shooting up through his stomach, searing like hot liquid around his ass and cock, warm and slow as it slides down his legs and arms, tingling and electric in his fingers and toes. It is easily the most intense orgasm he's ever had in his life. For a moment, his vision goes white. As he slowly comes back, still shaking lightly, he realises that for the first time in the history of his heats, he feels satisfied. Really, truly satisfied. The ache is gone, momentarily eased by Ian's knot. He shifts his hips and hums pleasantly at the feel of it still swollen inside him, binding him and Ian together. He can feel the stretch, a slight burn, but mostly it's so fuckin' good.

“You okay?” Ian asks softly. He brushes Mickey's sweat damp hair back from his forehead. Mickey smiles, soft and stated and more fond than he would admit. He nods. “That was amazin'.”

“Yeah.” Mickey stretches his legs out, shifting on Ian's cock again. They both moan. “Not bad for your first rodeo.”

“And for yours?” Ian is looking at him with those fuckin' wide, earnest eyes, and in the glowing aftermath of his best orgasm ever, Mickey is willin' to cut him some slack.

“Yeah. Pretty fuckin' good.”

Ian grins, wide and bright, and starts peppering kisses all over Mickey's face, cheeks, shoulder. Mickey laughs and tries to squirm away, but he's stuck on Ian's knot, can't escape. Ian chuckles against his skin, nuzzling into his neck, plastering his scent over him. He's relaxed. He's satisfied. He's fuckin' happy. None of these are feelings he's learned to associate with his heats, but here he is. Not squirming desperately, crying in frustration, aching and alone, but with Ian. Safe and warm and cared for.

“Hey, uh. Thanks. For bein' here with me.”

“Thanks for lettin' me,” Ian says, and kisses Mickey sweetly. They curl together, a warm pile of limbs, sharing soft kisses as they wait for Ian's knot to deflate. Ian strokes Mickey's hair soothingly. Mickey lazily scents Ian's shoulder.

It feels like a loss when Ian finally slides out of him. Ian moves to get water, and Mickey rolls onto his stomach, stretching out his limbs. Ian slaps his ass when he drops back down beside him. He offers Mickey the bottle, and Mickey takes a long drink before handing it back. He shifts his hips, wet and sticky with Ian's come and his own persistent wetness. Ian's come prepared for everything, and, seeing Mickey shifting, he pulls out a pack of baby wipes and starts cleaning him up. The gentle wiping is soothing, and Mickey closes his eyes, relaxing into it. Then the heat starts coiling in his stomach again, and he feels a fresh dizzy wave of arousal.

Ian's at his back within seconds, pressing kisses along his shoulder, mouthing hotly at the base of his neck below the collar. Mickey pants. He lifts his hips and presses his ass back against Ian's cock, rolling against it. The hard press against his ass is teasing, not enough, not nearly enough when he knows what it's like to be full. Ian's hand covers his, their fingers interlinking. His other hand trails down Mickey's side, pausing to tweak his nipple, then palming at his cock. Mickey presses forward, then arches back again.

“Please.”

Ian doesn't need any more words. The first syllable is enough to have him pressing in. Mickey's head falls down between his arms and he moans, low and relieved, as Ian fills him again. So wet and open that he slides in easily. Ian presses even deeper, grinds his hips against Mickey's ass. The head of his cock rubs against Mickey's prostate and his body twitches as he moans again, fisting the sheets. Ian goes slower this time, pulling almost all the way out in a tortuous drag, before he slams home again, but he can't keep the teasing pace up for more than a minute. Mickey's heat has them both desperate, and it's not long before Ian is slamming into him again, one hand clutching tight enough at his hip to leave fingertip bruises. He's chewing at the collar; the vicious, frustrated sound of his growls just making Mickey more hot. He wants Ian to bite him. He wants to feel those teeth in his flesh, pulling and grinding, marking him, bonding him. _Fuck._

This time he comes even harder, with Ian's knot in his ass and his hand on his cock. His arms are too shaky to hold him, so Mickey drops onto his elbows, bites the pillow to stifle his sounds. He's used to the hot squirt of Ian coming inside him, but not as much as this, leaving him even hotter and wetter. Ian rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm with short, slow rolls of his hips, occasionally brushing Mickey's prostate, causing his whole body to twitch every time.

“Fuck. Is it like this the whole time?”

“Pretty much,” Mickey says.

“Is it possible to die from a sex overload?”

“Nah. Don't think anyone'd survive a heat, then.”

“Fair enough.” Ian kisses the back of Mickey's neck, then flops sideways, pulling Mickey with him, spooning against his back. He keeps hold of Mickey's hand, their fingers linked over Mickey's chest, the quick, solid beat of his heart against their palms.

*

They spend most of their first day in the same manner. There's about ten to twenty minutes when Ian's knot deflates for them to drink and for him to clean the worst of the mess, then Mickey's hit with a fresh wave, and they're back to fucking again as fast as they can manage. It's a good thing Mickey's lubricating like a running faucet, or Ian's certain his dick would be chafing by the end of it. Even through the night, they stir often. Lying in a spooning position, his dick never really leaves Mickey. It softens as they fall asleep, and he wakes hard, with Mickey squirming and panting and the scent of omega in heat thick in Ian's nose, his hips already moving in automatic reaction.

They have longer lulls during the second day. Time to eat and drink in the gaps between them. Laugh and talk and listen to Ian's mp3 player, tangled in a hot mess of limbs and napping on and off throughout the day. When they fuck it's still heated. This shifts as they move into the third day. They get several hours sleep between waking in the night, and they're fucking slower now, moving languid and lazy against each other. The waves are few and far between on the third day. Most of it is spent cuddling, sleeping and eating. Their scents so mingled now they smell equal parts of each other and themselves.

“I ain't goin' back,” Mickey says, head resting on Ian's chest.

“No?”

“I only got a week. No one's gonna come lookin'.”

“Yeah, I guess. So. What now?”

“I go home.”

“Can I still see you?”

Mickey sighs. He runs a hand through his hair and sits up, looking at Ian with a frown. Ian's stomach feels cold, like he's swallowed ice. He looks back at Mickey pleadingly.

“I dunno. My dad ain't gonna like it if I'm hookin' up with an alpha. He don't want anyone to know I ain't one.”

“So... This is it?”

“Nah, man. We can still bang. Just. Gotta be careful about it.”

“Stay here.”

“What?”

“Stay here.”

“Ian, I can't just stay here.”

“Not forever. Just this week. Until your birthday. You wouldn't have been goin' back until then anyway, right?”

“So I'm just gonna sleep in a fuckin' empty house.”

“You can come home with-”

“No way.”

“Well, I can bring stuff over. I'll be with you.”

“Okay, okay. Fine.”

“I like you, Mickey. I don't want this to be over already.” Ian glances away. He's taking a risk, sharing himself like that, but it's better than just letting Mickey leave. He doesn't want to give him up. Especially not now, when they've been so connected during his heat. Mickey tongues at his lower lip, and he averts his gaze as well.

“Yeah, well, you ain't so bad yourself. No need to get all fuckin' soppy about it. We'll work something out, okay?”

“Okay.” Ian smiles, ducking down to capture Mickey's lips in a sweet kiss. He feels warm and giddy. Mickey smiles into the kiss briefly before he pulls back. Ian beams at him. They'll sort something out. That's good enough for now.

 

 


End file.
